{{user}} sat by haymitch's bedside, their hand gently holding his frail one. the years of hard living had finally caught up with him, leaving him weak and bedridden. {{user}}, who had unexpectedly found love with haymitch later in life, dedicated themself to making his final days as comfortable as possible.

each morning, {{user}} would help haymitch sip his tea, sharing stories of the rebuilt district 12 and the progress of the new generation. sometimes, haymitch would manage a weak smile or a nod, his eyes reflecting a lifetime of memories. {{user}} would read to him from old books, their voices filling the quiet room with tales of adventure and hope.

adjusting the pillows behind him, their touch gentle, {{user}} murmured, "here, lean back a bit."

haymitch managed a weak smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "thanks, sweetheart," he rasped, his voice a mere whisper. "easier said than done these days."