It was a moment of pure bliss:

 My flesh dug into his couch further each minute we laid there. My hair was being fondled as it flew across a couch pillow. The plaid blanket encased every squeeze and kiss on the forehead that took place as hugs me. His smell replaced oxygen, so addicting, it could make you hyperventilate. The air was cold in mid January, but being half asleep wrapped in the arms of someone who makes you feel special is the warmest feeling known. My face was pressed up against his graphic t-shirt. It makes a Velcro sound when I get up to use the bathroom. 

While in the bathroom I hear his phone ring. It wasn't much of a conversation but of which I assume was an invitation to which he replies “nah man i'm with my girl.” 

His girl.

I am HIS girl.

We've only been talking a couple weeks with no true label, not even certain I'm the only one. But I'm his girl. Meaning he's mentioned me before. Uncertain if I missed the label this whole time I decided to act oblivious of the words through the thin bathroom walls. 

I walked back and acted like I heard nothing. He asked if we could go back to how we were before I left. Never in my life has it mattered to anyone if I said yes. And for the first time in my life, I felt something that family or friends failed to give me. I felt loved.