Hate floats together with love

Chapter 4:library

HATE FLOATS TOGETHER WITH LOVE*

*PART 1: THE REVENGE*

*CHAPTER 4: LIBRARY*

Monday morning, Justin Sterling put a post-it on my desk.

Not a love note. A _boundary_.

In tiny, tilted handwriting:

`Rule 4: No touching during compile time. It’s distracting. -J`

He didn’t look at me when he placed it. Just slid it over like he was diffusing a bomb. His ears were already red.

I picked it up. Read it. Twice. Then wrote under it:

`Rule 5: Compile time is when I touch you best. -C :)`

Slid it back.

He read it. His hoodie string went into his mouth. Chew, chew, chew. Then he typed so hard his keyboard clicked like gunfire.

Mr. Davis: “Sterling! Banks! Eyes up!”

Justin didn’t look up for the rest of class.

---

*Study Hall. Library. 3:15pm. Back table. Our table.*

He showed up with two laptops. One for him. One “for the project.” He set mine three feet away. Placed a ruler between us.

“Buffer zone,” he mumbled. Not looking at me. “For… productivity.”

“Uh-huh.” I kicked off my shoes under the table. Slid my foot forward until my toes brushed his ankle.

He jumped like I tased him. “C-Chloe!”

“What? I’m in my zone.” I batted my lashes. Weaponized. “You’re in yours. The ruler said so.”

“You’re… you’re breaking Rule 4.”

“There is no Rule 4.” I pulled the post-it from my pocket. Ripped it in half. “See? Gone.”

He stared at the ripped paper. Like I’d just deleted system32. “You can’t just— that’s not how rules work.”

“Babe.” I leaned across the ruler. He scrambled back so fast his chair squeaked. “Rules are code. And I’m really good at rewriting code.”

His face was the color of a syntax error. “I-I need to set boundaries. This is… this is not professional. We’re partners. For the Hackathon. That’s it.”

“Okay.” I sat back. Opened my laptop. Started typing. “Let’s be professional.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Yep.” Type type type. “Line 204 is inefficient. If you switch the loop to a hash map, we cut runtime by 40%.”

He frowned. Leaned in to see. Just a little. “Show me.”

I turned my screen. As he leaned, I moved too. Suddenly we were shoulder to shoulder. My hair brushed his cheek. Strawberry shampoo. $6.99. Best money I ever spent.

He froze. “Y-you’re—”

“Debugging.” I pointed at the screen. My arm pressed against his. “See? Right here. If you—”

He wasn’t looking at the screen. He was looking at my mouth.

I stopped talking.

The library was dead quiet. Librarian Ms. Patel was asleep at her desk. The AC hummed. Somewhere, a clock ticked.

Justin’s breath was doing that thing again. Too fast. Like bad code.

“Chloe,” he whispered. “I don’t… I’ve never…”

“I know,” I whispered back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I.” Lie. I knew exactly what I was doing. “Wanna figure it out together?”

His eyes dropped to my lips. Then shot back up. Then down again. Like a pinball.

“I… compile time,” he said weakly. “Rule 4…”

I took his hand. Put it on my waist. His fingers twitched. Like he got an electric shock and liked it.

“Override,” I said.

And then I kissed him.

Not sexy. Not slow. Just _true_.

Because Justin Sterling had never been kissed by a girl who wasn’t paid to be there. Because he’d never been chosen first. Because his brother took everything, including the right to be touched without a contract.

He made a sound. Small. Broken. Like `// help` in a comment line.

His hands stayed on my waist. Frozen. Like if he moved, I’d call him a bug and debug him out of existence.

I pulled back. An inch. “Breathe, Sterling.”

He sucked in air. “I… I forgot how.”

“See? Distracting.” I booped his nose. He went cross-eyed. “Told you.”

His brain rebooted. Slowly. “Y-you can’t just— do that. In a library. P-public—”

“Then take me somewhere private.” I stood. Grabbed my bag. “B2. 11pm. Or are you gonna set a boundary there too?”

He stood too. Fast. Knocked his chair over. “I— you— that’s not—”

I walked off. Didn’t look back. Heard the chair. Heard him pick it up. Heard him whisper “s**t” to the empty table.

---

*11:03pm. B2. Sterling Tech Tower.*

Door was unlocked. He was already there. Pacing. Hoodie strings destroyed.

“You kissed me,” he said the second I walked in. Not angry. Not happy. Just… processing. Like it was an error he couldn’t catch.

“I did.” I dropped my bag. “You blushed. A lot. It was cute.”

“It’s not— you can’t—” He ran both hands through his hair. It stuck up. Adorable. “I have a system. I have rules. You’re… you’re a _virus_.”

“Thank you.” I stepped closer. He stepped back. Hit the server rack again. Same spot as last time. “You gonna debug me, Sterling?”

“I… I should. I should log this. As an incident.”

“Log it where? Your diary?” I was in front of him now. No ruler. No desk. No rules. “Come on, Justin. You’re the smartest guy in High-chain City. Run the numbers.”

He swallowed. “What numbers?”

“Probability that I show up here at 11pm just to _code_.” I put my hands on the rack, either side of his head. Caged. Again. “Probability that you leave the door unlocked for me.”

His breath hitched. “100%,” he whispered. “Both.”

“See? Smart boy.” I tilted my head. “Now. You gonna set another boundary… or you gonna kiss me back?”

His eyes were huge. Gray and buffering. His hands came up. Hovered near my waist. Shaking. Like he was asking the universe for permission.

“I don’t… I don’t know how,” he said again. Softer.

“You didn’t know how to compile either, once.” I closed the inch. “You learned.”

And then _he_ kissed _me_.

Messy. Desperate. Like he’d been saving it in a .zip file for 17 years and finally hit extract. His hands fisted in my sweater. Not on skin. Just fabric. Like skin was too much. Like he’d crash if he touched it.

I let him. Let him learn. Let him rewrite his own code on my mouth.

When we broke apart, he was gasping. Forehead on my shoulder. Hiding.

“Okay,” he mumbled into my sweater. “Okay. Boundary… deleted.”

I laughed into his hair. It smelled like cola and static. “Good boy.”

He shivered. Full body. “Don’t… don’t say that. I’ll… I’ll crash.”

“Too late.” I kissed the top of his head. “You already did. Three days ago. When I fixed line 88.”

He pulled back. Looked at me. Really looked. No blush now. Just… raw. “Chloe. I’m not Ethan. I don’t… I can’t do what he does. I don’t know how to be…”

“Good,” I said. “I don’t want Ethan. I had Ethan. He’s empty.” I tapped his chest. “You’re full. Of bugs and tabs and feelings you don’t know what to do with. That’s why I picked you.”

He stared. Then his hands came up. Cupped my face. Careful. Like I was a server he couldn’t afford to drop.

“I’m gonna mess this up,” he whispered.

“Probably.” I grinned. “But it’ll be fun to debug.”

He kissed me again. Slower this time. Learning. And Justin Sterling learns _fast_.

We didn’t touch the laptops for 3 hours.

Rule 4 was officially deprecated.