INT. AIRPORT TERMINAL - DAY
Ten yards of gray industrial carpet stretch out like a wasteland.
YUKI (35), wearing a charcoal suit that has surrendered to chaos, stands at the edge of the concourse. His chest heaves.
Sweat darkens the armpits of his dress shirt. The shirt is untucked on the left side. His silk tie hangs limp, the knot pulled askew.
Empty belt loops on his trousers sag open.
He grips his side. Gasps for air in the sixty-eight-degree climate control.
KAITO (35) stands near the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. He wears a heavy flannel jacket and a knit beanie pulled low.
A green canvas duffel bag hangs from his right hand. His knuckles are white against the frayed strap.
Outside the glass, the nose of a Boeing 737 looms white and massive.
Kaito does not move. He stares at the plane.
A FAMILY hurries past Yuki. A toddler drops dry Cheerios onto the carpet. CRUNCH.
A ROBOTIC VOICE echoes overhead.
Gate change for Flight 492 to Denver. Proceed to Concourse C.
Kaito turns. His eyes are shadowed, rimmed with red. He looks at Yuki.
You missed the turn for the university.
Yuki swallows. His throat clicks.
He takes a step. His dress shoes strike the linoleum transition strip with a sharp CLACK.
I didn't go to the university.
Kaito’s gaze drops to Yuki’s waist. Then to his feet.
I can see that. You look like you just escaped a holding cell.
Security took my belt.
Yuki touches his waist. His hands tremble.
I didn't have time to put it back on. The board said final call and I—
Yuki. Go home.
Kaito shifts his weight away from the gate. Away from Yuki.
You hate airports. You hate scenes. You're currently making both.
I don't care.
A BUSINESSMAN on a laptop looks up, annoyed.
I don't care about the scene. I don't care about the tenure review board. I don't care about the apartment with the northern exposure.
Kaito flinches. A muscle feathers in his jaw.
Don't say that. Don't lie to me now. I can take the silence. I can't take the polite lie.
It's not a lie!
Yuki steps closer. He is within arm's reach now.
I panicked. At the hotel. I reverted to protocol. It’s a survival mechanism.
Yeah, well, it works. You survived. You're safe here. Safe in the lab.
I am not safe! I calculated the probability of my life without you in the cab. I ran the simulation.
Yuki’s voice cracks. It is too loud for the sterile room.
It’s a flat line. It’s sterile. It’s just... data.
Kaito turns fully. His expression hardens.
So what? You want me to stay? You want me to be a house pet while you go to faculty dinners?
No.
Kaito drops the duffel bag. It hits the floor with a heavy THUD.
Then what? Look at us. You're wearing a suit that costs more than my truck. I'm going to a place where the toilet is a hole in the ground.
Kaito gestures to the terminal, then to the plane.
We are different species. We require different environments.
That's bad science.
Yuki straightens. He adjusts his smudged glasses.
That is a fundamental misunderstanding of ecology.
Excuse me?
Monocultures die, Kaito. Systems that are too uniform are vulnerable. They lack resilience.
Yuki gestures with his hands, framing an invisible whiteboard in the air.
If I stay in the lab, I stagnate. I become theoretical. And you... if you stay out there alone, you burn out. You stop seeing the patterns.
Yuki steps into Kaito's personal space.
We aren't incompatible. We're a symbiotic ecosystem. We balance the pH.
Kaito stares. His mouth parts slightly.
You're really lecturing me on biology right now? In the middle of Gate B7?
I'm telling you the hypothesis was wrong. I don't want the control group anymore. I want the variables. I want the mud.
You hate mud. You have special shoes just for walking to the car.
I'll buy boots. The heavy ones with the liners.
Yuki...
I'm applying for the field grants. The National Science Foundation has a longitudinal study in the Yukon.
Kaito goes still.
It requires a field specialist and a lead analyst. On-site data collection.
You'd leave the tenure track?
I can take a sabbatical. Or I can quit. I don't care.
The GATE AGENT unhooks the velvet rope. She clears her throat.
Sir? The flight is closed. The door is shut.
Kaito does not look at her. He searches Yuki’s face.
I don't want to study the world from a screen. I want to see it with you. Even if it's cold.
It's really cold. Dark for six months straight.
Then we'll buy lamps. We'll adapt.
Kaito looks for the flinch. He looks for the retreat.
Yuki stands his ground. Disheveled. Beltless. Certain.
You're an idiot.
I know. I'm a very slow learner.
Kaito grabs the lapels of Yuki’s ruined jacket.
He pulls him in.
They collide. A messy, desperate kiss. Yuki’s hands tangle in Kaito’s hair.
Behind them, the JETWAY MOTOR WHINES.
The accordion tunnel retracts from the plane.
They pull apart, breathless. Foreheads resting against each other.
We missed it.
Yuki looks over Kaito’s shoulder. The plane is being pushed back by a tug vehicle.
Yes. We did.
That was a non-refundable ticket.
Inefficient.
Kaito glances down at Yuki’s waist.
And you don't have a belt.
Also inefficient.
Kaito laughs. A loud, sharp sound.
He steps back, running a hand through his hair. He looks at the retreating plane. Then at Yuki.
So. No Alaska.
Not today. But the Yukon grant application is due in two weeks.
You're serious.
I have the spreadsheets to prove it.
Kaito snorts. He reaches out. Takes Yuki’s hand.
Okay. Let's get out of here before you get arrested for indecent exposure with those pants.
They turn away from the gate.
They walk against the flow of rushing travelers.
INT. CONCOURSE - MOMENTS LATER
They collapse into a row of black vinyl seats near a closed pretzel stand.
Kaito stretches his legs out. Crosses his boots.
I'm hungry.
I imagine so. You didn't eat at the hotel.
I was busy getting my heart broken.
Yuki winces.
Kaito bumps his shoulder against Yuki’s.
Shut up. You fixed it. You ran through an airport without a belt.
Yuki looks up at the DEPARTURES BOARD. The destinations flip. CLICK-CLICK-CLICK.
We need a plan. We need to retrieve my luggage. We need to contact the department.
Kaito puts a hand over Yuki’s mouth.
Stop. No plans for one hour.
Kaito removes his hand. He leaves it resting on Yuki’s knee.
We are going to find the greasiest breakfast this terminal has to offer. And we are going to sit here and watch the planes leave without us.
Yuki looks at Kaito. He sees the fatigue. He sees the spark.
Okay. Breakfast first. Logistics later.
Kaito stands. He pulls Yuki up.
Come on, Professor. Let's go find some trouble.
Yuki hikes up his trousers with one hand. He takes Kaito's hand with the other.
They walk toward the food court.
The sound of their mismatched footsteps fades into the hum of the terminal.