Work Text:
"She's not my Jade," You remark with a hushed tone. Guilt fills your face as you look at yourself in the mirror. You're a big orange bird with a bad wing limp. Who would ever love you.
Your mind replies with Jade does.
She did and always will.
But the image you think when you hear Jade is not of the girl who's always with you on the boat. The Jade you remember was the one that always cried with the slightest wrong move; the one that who would not listen to anyone and just cry and whine; the one that only you had the power to calm down. Just like the power you had to qualm her sobbing she likewise had the power to stop you from feeling it - the fear that contains you every second of every day, the fear that strikes you so much, so often, the fear that you're just second-place and a carbon copy.
This Jade would not understand. She wasn't the same.
She called you Dave(-Sprite) but you called her just Jade. With your Jade, you called each other with your own names - "Jade" and "Dave". There was no suffix, there was no difference.
You love Jade.
But not this Jade.