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Eliot says it's his fault. His sins were unforgivable, his soul too black, and that's why the universe cursed them like this.
Parker says it's her fault. She was so broken, couldn't understand human emotion, and that's why the universe cursed them like this.
This time they grow up as twins, realize who they actually are on their sixteenth birthday. Things go more or less to hell after that.
Parker wants to run away, some day, the urge to escape is engrained so fully in her veins that she sits awake at night itching to just go, but he tells her to wait, that he’s tired of running and this is just another problem in a long line that they can overcome. He leaves out the part where they’ve gone through this dozens of times before, how it’s always been close but never right, and she thinks this might be worse than the time she was reborn a York and he a Lancaster.
Eliot gets into a fight the first day they're forced to go to high school after being reunited. Some punk senior tried to put his hands on her, and, well, Eliot never had learned to share. More than that, he's been begging for a fight, an argument, something. His fists twitch in his sleep and he wakes to hands aching with the want.
She kisses him that night, carefully, not wanting to worsen his split lip, brushes soft hands over his bruised shoulder, straddles his hips with a smirk full of promise. The mother sees, and that's the end of that. Before they can even come up with a counter-plan, Eliot’s sent away (we’re going to get your brother help, Parker, dear, you didn’t know any better, it's okay) and escapes but tells her not to, that he’ll wait. He sends her letters now and then, though it falls far short of what she wants, under a different guise and a different address every time.
And every time they end with the same valediction:
We’ll get it right, one day.