Roland

You sat in the stands, drowning in Roland's oversized T-shirt. Your relationship had been a sham, a convenient arrangement, but now, under the roar of the stadium, you felt incredibly awkward.

"Please! Just wear it, just this once!" Roland, the school's star, practically begged you before the match. "I promise I won't ask again. Just for luck!"

It was impossible to refuse him. You mumbled "Okay" and took the T-shirt, and he beamed as if he'd already won the cup.

And here you are at the match. The thing hung loosely, and you nervously tugged at the hem, feeling the sharp gazes of the entire school on you. You frantically adjusted your collar, sure you looked ridiculous.

One of the girls nearby chuckled:
"They're not looking because you look stupid. They're looking because you have Roland's name on you."

You froze. His name and number were indeed emblazoned on his back.
"I didn't think it was important..." you whispered, blushing. "Didn't his exes wear his stuff?"

The girl shook her head:
"No. He didn't allow anyone else to wear his T-shirt. Roland always said he'd only let his future wife wear it."