Chapter Text
The dreams started coming around the fifth day after the Five Buildings instance.
Mu Sicheng would wake up in a cold sweat, not really knowing why, a flash of light hair in his memory.
The worst part was likely the fact that each time they came, he would be left with what felt like a gaping hole in his chest, feeling strangely… empty. And he didn’t know why, because in the manner that dreams did they tended to ebb right out of his memory in that short instant between waking and lucidity.
It was—
annoying, frustrating, infuriating, exhausting—
it was far too many things he didn’t know how to name.
It was the feeling of grieving for something he’d never known, and still not knowing it.
The dreams got worse after the Gloren instance.
Somehow, despite not really remembering the name of the instance itself, he could remember the name of the country, how it felt on his tongue.
He could remember the exhilarating rush of adrenaline that had pulsed through him during all those fights, recall the exact feeling of beating and being beaten, could remember the exact timbre of—
Could he really, though?
Or was it—
the dreams were sharper, but still not something he could remember or put a name to.
He rather had the idea of gold, the idea of a butterfly, the idea of a feeling that settled deep inside of him.
And what he could remember of the dreams was… meagre, to say the least.
He could remember a pair of hands, long and slender fingers interlacing with his, the exact position of ever-changing and ever-growing calluses.
He could remember two cans of beer and a soft laugh, the sunrise shining through golden-brown hair.
He could remember the exact pattern on a pair of tiny wings, describe in exacting detail the lilting tones of a playful voice.
But for the life of him, Mu Sicheng could not place a name to that person in his dreams.
It was after meeting Armand and Georgia that the memories finally flooded back in, as if some dam had been opened.
It was—
enlightening, to say the least.
Mu Sicheng wondered how the fuck he’d ever forgotten.
Remembering had been quite the ordeal— he’d had to ask Muke of all people for help differentiating between Bai Liu and Bai Six— but he wouldn’t have given it up for the world.
That time—
he’d fucked up that time, terribly so.
But—
he worried at his lip. Would it be…
He wanted to see Armand again, yes, but…
did he even deserve to, was the question.
After all, everything bad that had happened… to Georgia, to the Third Bureau—
it was in no small part aided by him.
Georgia’s fall into depression was more than a little bit his fault.
And in the last life, Armand had even—
Mu Sicheng shut his eyes, putting on his monkey headphones.
What if he—
what if he, indeed.
Breaking in to the Third Bureau… was a stupid idea, wasn’t it?
…Well.
Should be fittingly stupid for someone with an intelligence value of 74.