Wow, I haven't updated this in a while T.T

It takes Akihiko about two seconds to guess, "Revising your thesis?" when he shuffles into the kitchen.

She gives him a dead-eyed look, surrounded by notebooks—she's always been the type to enjoy writing things down by hand, despite today's digital age. "How did you guess?"

In all honesty, until it was returned to her a few days ago, she'd mostly forgotten about it, having turned it in on the day of the launch. Well, she hadn't forgotten, per se; she's still working on her research at the lab that she did her writing on. Suffice it to say, she just hasn't had the mindspace to think about the thesis itself. It's probably a good thing that she got it turned in that day; if she hadn't, there is a very real possibility that she would've legitimately forgotten about it in the midst of everything else.

There's only one chair at the table and she's using it, so he wanders up behind her, propping his spindly arms on the back of the chair and resting his chin lightly on her head.

"Where are you at?" he asks; she can feel the thin vibrations of his voice in his chest and throat.

Just like before, Rinko doesn't ask, but he helps; after all, he was in her position not so long ago. At the time when she was finishing up her thesis, she could literally go days without seeing a hair of him as the launch day of SAO crept closer and closer. She hadn't wanted to add more to his workload by asking him to look over her work, but he was the one who offered some time in October.

They'd sat down at his spotless kitchen table at eight at night, and somehow, after what felt like an hour had passed, it was two in the morning and not a square centimeter of the table could be seen under all of her notes. When they finally looked at the clock, she'd laughed (and perhaps was slightly delirious from sleep deprivation at that point), and then couldn't stop giggling. He'd given her the strangest look but smiled back anyways, perhaps amused by her amusement.

He doesn't stay long tonight, but he leaves her with a handful of suggestions and comments and dog-ears pages from various notebooks to look back at later. Apart from a few teasing remarks about the ease of control F, he's never really questioned her preference for written instead of digital notes. And somehow, he remembers what went where even better than she does.

It makes her terribly nostalgic, working late at night with him, the two of them taking it in turns to mumble half-finished thoughts and then trail off as the other nods and mumbles back, already understanding. This was how they did most of the work they shared—at ungodly hours, sharing feedback and dry quips along with constructive criticism.

Rinko can't even begin to count the nights they've spent poring over notes and data, fingers cramping from so much typing and writing, sleep-deprived brains threatening to hit the light switch and faceplant them into their keyboards at any given moment—even Akihiko was only human. There was always more writing to do, more data to analyze, more deadlines to meet.

Some of her friends would ask her why she insisted on staying with this workaholic, since their relationship seemed to perpetually revolve around their jobs, on the surface. And they weren't wrong, to be completely honest. There was probably something about having a good work-life balance in a healthy relationship, or whatever. But Rinko is just as much a workaholic as him—she just has better self-control.

And the two of them did go on dates, but they did also see plenty of each other at the lab every day, even more so once they really got started on Aincrad. Their research has always been their passion, and even on 'normal' outings, they'd somehow wind up circling back around to it in the end anyways. Talking about it with each other, inspiring each other to look at things differently and find new ideas, was their happy place.

Both of them were—and perhaps still are—visionaries and idealists at heart, contrary to their outward appearances and behavior. His dream—his desire to see it, and her desire to be there with him—gave them life.

It's real now, his dream. And it's the things that haven't changed that blindsided her the most. Her life has veered so far off from normal into a murky sci-fi fairy tale nightmare scene that it looped right back around to something resembling normal again.

And she should hate it. She should hate him. The rest of the world does.

Maybe that's just the point. The rest of the world rightfully hates him, and one person, especially one as weak-willed as she, has no hope of making a difference in that regard. And clearly he doesn't care and likely stopped caring a long time ago, but before she could stop to think twice, she was holding out a hand already, unable to bear the thought of him standing so alone against the world, and now she can't let go.

o0o0o

Rinko doesn't much like cooking, doesn't like going grocery shopping either (or going anywhere in town, really, because everywhere she looks, people are still talking about Sword Art Online), so she's fallen into a habit of making a lot of food all at once that she can freeze and then slowly work her way through. It usually takes up her evenings on weekends, when she can leave stuff cooking slowly and work in the meantime.

"See? It's really not so bad."

She shoots the dark, lanky silhouette in the doorway a look before hurriedly returning her attention to the pan when something sizzles angrily at her. "Sure."

A soft chuckle sneaks in under the sounds of the stove running, and from behind her, his thin hands grasp hers where they're holding the pan and the spatula. "May I?"

She's not that incompetent, but she doesn't argue either. It's strange, she thinks to herself, glad that he can't see the wry smile threatening to reveal itself on her lips. He's always had a tendency for physical contact, but mostly just small things—fiddling with her hair, touching her shoulder or arm absentmindedly. Having him so close still makes her heart beat a hair faster, but right now, she just doesn't have the capacity to care much beyond that. Does it even matter in the end anyways?

From over her shoulder, she can feel his breathing grow a little more labored, and she murmurs, "You can lean on me a little."

For a second, she thinks he's going to ignore her, but then she feels his weight shift, his thin chest pressed lightly to her back. Her heart shatters a little as she feels his ribs press into her shoulder blades and realizes just how little energy she has to expend to support him.

To distract herself, she asks, "So how are the players doing in Aincrad?"

Rinko can't see him from where she's standing in front of him, but she can hear him light up at the mention of his steel castle. He's suddenly so much more alive.

And maybe that's why she just couldn't.

He'd been expecting her, when she first showed up, knife in hand. Perhaps if he'd still been asleep…

But when she saw his smile, more lively and real than it ever had been in the real world (happier than she was ever able to bring out in him), she couldn't bring herself to take it away from him.

His voice scratches and scrapes, rusty, punctuated by the occasional cough, but he doesn't seem to care, just keeps talking about the world he loves. Once upon a time, she would joke and tease him about not being able to shut him up once someone got him going on his research, but only now does she realize that what he would ramble on and on about was simply the tip of the iceberg, compared to everything else he was hiding.

"The clearers have been exploring the Floor 8 Labyrinth," he's saying, now leaning against the counter as she wraps up containers of food in plastic wrap. "It's the Floor covered in water, with trees stretching to the bottom of the next Floor, and branches as wide as roads acting as bridges. Some players have tried to dig through the ceiling, although I made that impossible." He pauses, looking almost wistful. "Watching the sun set over the water reminds me of you."

A bitter nostalgia draws the tension in her shoulders taut. "Really," she whispers, keeping her eyes trained down.

These days, everything reminds her of him.

He hums, either oblivious or uncaring. "It makes me remember being at the beach with you," he murmurs, and for a second, she lets herself believe that it meant something to him.

Can I just say, no matter what she did or didn't do, she still had the will to complete her master's degree in the middle of this emotional nightmare. I don't want her to just be 'Kayaba Akihiko's lover and assistant for the SAO incident' forever. Like, what she did will follow her for the rest of her life, but it doesn't erase everything in the past either. I have a feeling Kayaba would never have settled for anyone who couldn't keep up with him. She's just as wickedly intelligent and driven as he is, and you can't change my mind on that.

(Also, it says in the LN that she handed in her bachelor's thesis on the day of the launch (talk about terrific timing) in late 2022, but her information that Yui pulled up says she finished her BS in 2020 and her MS in 2023, so I'm inclined to believe that was a typo...? I might be completely messing this up though, since I have completed neither XD)