they were the worst soulmates ever. of all time.

THEY WERE WAS THE WORST SOULMATES EVER. OF ALL TIME.

A Wash-centric story for the "Worst __ Ever" or "Soulmates" square of the blue team bingo! In which Washington puts the "shit" in relationshit.

Soulmate marks were never something Wash really put that much thought into. Sure, there was one very obviously on his wrist, something he didn't take that much pride in. He didn't really care, either. But after society sort of rejected the idea of soulmates, before Wash was even born, it was custom to keep them hidden at all times. And for Wash, that meant long sleeves and long nights trying to figure out how to work makeup.

The first time anyone said anything about his mark, he was somewhere around fourteen. That was the first time he found himself sitting on Church's floor, a box full of Carolina's skin-toned products sitting in between them.

"If you think I understand how to do this, you've come to the wrong person," Church grumbled. "Just because I have a sister doesn't mean I know how this works. Don't you have a sister, anyways?" He had his arms crossed, and somewhat of a scowl danced across his face.

"Please, man? I didn't really get that anything was wrong with it until my teacher said something. My teacher, for crying out loud. Like, I'm sorry, is it really his job to be focusing on that?" Wash said. He was looking down at the concealer like it was some sort of dangerous explosive, just waiting to blow up and take him with it.

"Welcome to the world of dress code, dipshit," Church said. His arms were crossed against his chest, and his socks were pulled up mid-calf. Those socks drove Wash crazy. Almost as crazy as the stupid soulmate marks.

"Like, why aren't they allowed to be shown anyways?" He muttered. He picked up a tube that read "BB Cream" in a large font on the front. He held it up to the light, confused.

"You know very well why. People wanted to have their own option of free choice who they got with, not to have it pushed on them by some gods or whatever. Just follow the rules, it's not like it would kill you," Church said. Wash sighed. He unscrewed the lid of the cream, pushing a little out onto his wrist.

"Do you just like, spread it around?" Wash questioned, moving the cream liquid around with his other hand.

"What are you asking me for?" Church said. "You should ask your sister. Or mine. No promises she'd answer, though." Wash rubbed his skin, watching the color of his mark fade.

Washington's soulmate mark was, unfortunately, a very dark color. It was something of a dark blue-green (teal?) ink, carved into a two-pronged key. It almost looked like a sword. It wasn't going away.

"I think I'm going to have to ask someone else about this," he grumbled. "This stuff doesn't even cover up my freckles." He was holding his wrist away from Church, making so that he couldn't see it. Church was politely (for once,) diverting his vision.

"Why don't you ask CT, maybe she'll know," Church suggested, leaning back against the nearest wall.

"Nah, Connie's mark is right behind her ear. She keeps half her head shaved and everything just so people can see it. You know how Connie is," Wash said.

"She's your sister, Wash. Cut her some slack."

"Yeah, whatever," he said. He looked up at the analog clock on Church's wall. "I should probably get going anyway. Dad'll kill me if I'm home late."

"Trust me Wash, your dad is lax. Mess with mine and he'd cut you, I promise," Church said. "See you tomorrow, asshat."

"Yeah, yeah. Bye, Church." And he went home uneventfully. That's how Wash's life typically was- uneventful.