Chase My Thoughts Away.

It's not Yasha-Ou. Ashura knows this even as he kisses the shadow's lips and the unscarred eyelid. It's not Yasha-Ou: it barely has a whisper of his spirit, of the strength that made it worth it all the soldiers this war cost. His hands are rough like Yasha-Ou's hands must have been, but still Ashura can't think of them like belonging to the other king, even as those hands pull at his clothes, taking off his sash and then dragging rough palms over his skin.

Ashura wonders why he feels as if he was cheating Yasha-Ou's memory when it's his ghost the one he's doing this with. Perhaps it is because this never happened with Yasha-Ou when he was alive.

He chokes on a sob and instead he bites at the illusion's throat, tries to make himself believe that there is a heartbeat as he touches the illusion's chest, as he lets his own hair cover them both.

The illusion is hard underneath him and the tears sting in his eyes but Ashura doesn't allow himself the relief of tears. Instead he kisses this memory of Yasha-Ou as he moves against him and he gasps his name, holds unto strong shoulders.

The illusion's eyes are dark and tender and they don't close at all. Yasha-Ou used to look at him that exact same way when they fough, serious and focused on him and when they fought there was nothing else in the universe.

Ashura can't stand the tender sorrow those eyes bring him and as shudders starts to wreck his body, he closes his eyes.