The erratic clattering sound of a keyboard filled the room. Kaiba sat at his desk facing the bed, typing on his laptop. Mokuba was lying down, his arms spread horizontal like Jesus on the cross, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it.

"What are we doing for Christmas this year?" he asked dully. His brother answered without looking up.

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Dunno."

The time passed lazily. Kaiba stopped typing every now and then to click around with his mouse. After a while Mokuba sat up and stared at the opposite wall.

"Seto?" he asked, peering over his shoulder.

Kaiba looked up. "What?"

"What was dad like?"

Kaiba blinked a few times, and then his face hardened, twisting into a gentle scowl. "What?"

Mokuba seemed to recede into himself a little. "Not our adopted dad." He murmured. "Our real one. What was he like?"

"I don't remember." Said Kaiba curtly. He went back to work.

Mokuba scowled, imitating his brother without realizing it. "Sorry." He growled.

Kaiba sighed, closed his eyes and gently squeezed the bridge of his nose, thinking. After a long pause he answered, "He was calling more than he was there. I don't remember much."

"What'd he look like?"

"Me." Kaiba grunted. He paused a beat. "Maybe a little shorter."

"Yeah. So, what was he like?"

Kaiba's eyes narrowed. "Me, only shorter." He repeated.

"Not what he looked like, what was he like as a person?"

Kaiba reached a hand back to scratch at his scalp. "I can't really tell you. If you want to know more you should try Googleing his name or something."

"I tried that. Only a bunch of stuff about you came up." There was some resentment in Mokuba's voice, as if his brother had somehow planned this out.

Kaiba shrugged. "All I remember is he looked like me and he took us out to eat like every other weekend. That's about it." He leaned over to the side, to get a better look at his brother. "Why?"

Mokuba shrugged and turned back to the wall, fidgeting with his hands. "It just feels weird," he muttered, barely audible, "to know I can't remember them, their faces. It's almost like I've betrayed them or something."

Kaiba eyes bored into the back of his head. "You were only four when they died."

His voice was no more gentle than usual, he didn't make any move to get up and comfort him and he didn't bother telling him that it wasn't his fault. Kaiba wouldn't ever give any obvious or affectionate condolences, but somehow it was enough for Mokuba, who turned and smiled at him, slightly. Their relationship was built on mutual understanding and a respect for space, a small personal and private moment wasn't enough to change that.

The sound of a mouse clicking around started up again.

"If you look like dad," said Mokuba suddenly, "does that mean I look like mom?"

Kaiba shook his head. "You don't look like anyone." He said listlessly.

The keyboard's clattering racket filled the silence between them.