They embrace clumsily and he turns away. As he walks down the first flight of stairs he hears the door close. He does not look back. Instinctively, from force of habit, he puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out his phone. Two flights. Three. No messages in the last two hours. Five flights. Six. He pauses on the mat and breathes out, presses the exit button and pushes the door open onto the night. Cold air sweeps in.
He steps out and his phone vibrates. Another step and he turns and looks up at her window. Her silhouette is there. He breathes again and looks down at his phone.