You always thought the moment you met your soulmate would be magical. That the thin red thread that connected you would shimmer and dissolve as you finally touched the person your soul yearned for the most. But the first time you looked into Finnick’s eyes, you saw nothing but unbridled hatred and it made your gut wrench. Initially you thought you were mistaken. The thread seemed to extend just past him as if he weren’t in possession of his own soul, something you soon discovered to be true. After that you had no doubt.

For Finnick, the fact that, for some, wielding magic could be as natural as breathing was devastating. As a child he learned that love didn’t go far when there were mouths to feed and dangers lurking around every turn. Sure his parents had found their soulmate, but their life was miserable. He knew magic could have saved his family, saved him, but he also knew obtaining arcane power would come at a cost. He had long since made peace with the fact that he'd never find his soulmate. The red thread faded from view the day he sold his soul to Kvasir. But in exchange, as per his warlock pact, he’d been granted a taste of Kvasir’s power.

Years later, you sauntered into his life. A sorcerer who grew up wanting for nothing that magic couldn’t provide, your spring of arcane power unconditional in its plenty. You hung around Finnick like a damn familiar; it pissed him off to no end that you were undeterred by his mean looks and harsh criticisms. Reluctantly you’d formed a party together, taking commissions and splitting the gold.

“I can’t believe the lengths people go to for their damned soulmates.” Finnick muttered, looking over the quest scroll again. “This man is offering everything he’s worth for someone to honor his soulmate’s dying wish– what a moron.”

The two of you were searching an ancient crypt for a diadem, one the commissioner’s soulmate had perished attempting to retrieve. It was dangerous to be sure, but the payout was great, and that was all Finnick really cared for anyway.