[Ryou doesn't fight the contact, but he doesn't seek anything further yet. If anything, his body seems to coil up, tense and discomforted under Atem's fingers.]

I got careless. And then I got so scared that I...I put the memory away inside me. The memory of how I died.

[The words slip past his lips quietly, with an air of defeat to them. Just as before, when Sherlock was talking to him about it, Ryou can feel the building, aching pressure just behind his eyes as his mind reneges against the reality of the situation. He winces, but continues.]

Mr. Holmes came here wondering why I wasn't speaking out against my own murderer. I thought he meant January...but he didn't.

He meant...the one who murdered me in April.

[At that point, Ryou's gaze finally finds Atem's, and he looks so terribly distressed saying what he did. Atem wasn't a fool. He'd understand that Ryou wasn't talking about the Sjora. Ryou is very certain of that.

But then...how will he feel about Ryou lying to himself, to Atem, to everyone? It was a choice, wasn't it, for his mind to push that away? He's to blame for the stress he's under, and that he's therefore putting Atem under. It doesn't occur to him yet, that he'd never hold anyone else to this standard. Just himself...]