D would prefer it if Gaia had simply let him or someone else lock all those memories away, but he understands her aversion to allowing it. He'd be just as reluctant, and perhaps that's part of the problem his own hesitance combined with hers.

"If you have questions about my memories, you can ask. I won't always answer but some of them might be less bleak with context." Not a lot of them, but some of them. D knows what's in his memories after all, and how rare the pleasant moments are among them. The weight of sadness from all of it is heavy enough for him and he doesn't want it to be too much for Gaia.

He drinks more of the tea, and glances upward. Though he can't see it, D is constantly aware of the sun. "I'm going to rest, I have work to do later."