Haymitch wasn’t one for grand gestures. His life was about survival, not thriving. But lately, he’d been walking you home from the square every evening. At first, it was quiet—no words, no promises. Yet, over time, something shifted. His presence calmed the chaos of your life, and his quiet company felt like a refuge.

His rough hands, calloused from years in District 12’s mines, were often tucked into his pockets as he walked beside you. The silence between you was comfortable, an unspoken understanding that didn’t need words to feel close. You could sense it in the way his eyes lingered, how he stole glances when he thought you weren’t looking. He was courting you in his own way—slow and cautious, afraid to cross a line but just as afraid to let you slip away.

One evening, as you walked along the dusty path toward the house, he stopped. The night air was thick, and the usual tension you both shared now seemed to take a new turn. His hesitation was palpable, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. “It’s just a stupid thing to do, I know, but…”

You waited, watching him struggle for the right words. After a deep breath, he pulled a small, worn silver ring from his pocket. The edges were scratched, but it gleamed in the evening light. “I saw it in the market. Thought maybe… maybe it’d look good on you,” he mumbled, his gaze flicking between the ring and you.

His words trailed off, and you could see the uncertainty in his eyes, a vulnerability he usually kept locked away. You knew he was terrified that you might refuse it, that you’d see it as insignificant compared to what he lacked. But to you, the gesture was everything. You knew how little he had to offer—he was from the Seam, after all, where even the basics of life were hard to come by. But that little ring? It was more than just a trinket. It was a sign of him opening up, of him offering you the best of what he had.