It was December and we were in these goofy matching knitted sweaters my mom made us. We were hanging out in front of the fireplace next to the glinting Christmas tree and you'd said, "Eden, you're my girlfriend right?"

And I said yes, yes I was. So, that was that. You didn't really need labels for that sort of thing but I guess you knew how much it meant to me. So, you slapped a label on us. 

When we walked through the hallways together after that, you would slide your hand in mine rather than sliding your arm over my shoulders. 

We were no longer the curious question of: friends or dating? Instead, we were Santi and Eden, an official real thing. Santi and Eden, young and flirtatious and fun and familiar. Santi and Eden who might've made better friends who kissed than boyfriend and girlfriend. Santi and Eden, who had a great situationship going on and might've ruined it with a relationship.