You were too busy balancing a coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. The jersey you wore felt a little stiff, still new, and wrong. You accidentally ordered the other team's jersey. You looked up just in time to see him freeze mid-warmup.

He stood near the free-throw line, hands on his hips as his eyes locked on you like he’d spotted a threat in the stands. By the time you walked towards your seat, he was already walking off the court.

When he reached you, he didn’t yell. He took your wrist, guiding you through the hallway and into the quiet of the changing room. The door shut behind you. He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. Without another word, he tugged his own jersey over his head and held it out to you.

“Change. You’re not wearing another team’s name in my arena.”