[ Pedestrian, yes. But Hei's priorities have never quite matched up to everyone else's. Even in the wake of disaster, his mantra is rooted in survival: Focus on the center, not the framework. Chase the possibilities. Force the solution. Even in the moments where he's ticking like a human time-bomb, when his body is just a merciless cage of machinery chewing and swallowing every ounce of sanity, even when he's going up in flames, outside, inside -- Even then, he's been trained to remain in a suspended state of clarity. To soothe the beast clamoring within, to keep it cool; and when it's time to run, to let it flow, striking a balance between instinct and irrationality. ]

[ Because, in his profession, that unequivocally separates the living from the dead. ]

[ A thought passes -- brief, unfiltered -- through his head. Tinged with a regret, but also a gratitude. At least it's Korra who's privy to his dreams -- not an opportunistic stranger, a potential threat. If it were up to him, he'd share those memories with no-one at all. But ... to tweak a phrase: Better the misguided angel you know. ]

[ The misguided angel in question speaks, and Hei takes a breath. Forces the white-noise of his thoughts to settle, like the way tumblers click into place inside a lock, sliding into order. (Damage control in your psyche isn't quick or easy -- but he's got a decent amount of practice at it.) ]

[ Eventually, not quite looking at her, ]

I don't think it's a regular curse. If it was, they'd be whining about it on the Network. [ One thing he can count on in the City: the citizens' tendency to overshare. A beat, in which he pauses, gaze flicking sideways to study Korra. He catches her idea out of the air, though it is clear that she herself isn't there yet. ]

Stay Underground in the meantime. That should keep the dreams away.