“Love is like a virus. It can happen to anybody at any time.”

–Maya Angelou

You weren’t supposed to fall for him. His best friend, sure. Heck, your best friend would work too. But no, life doesn’t work that way—at least, not yours.

No, you just had to fall for the biggest player in school.

Song Minho.

Song “Call Me Mino Because I’m a Big Shot Rapper” Minho.

But goddamn, he was fine. There was absolutely no doubt that he was the most attractive male specimen to attend your school. That, at least, you could appreciate.

He and his almost equally douche-y friends strutted around like they owned the school, calling themselves WINNER like some egotistic boyband that couldn’t tell music from static to save their lives. Except they were actually good at music and you hated how talented they were.

You especially hated how Mino was in your advanced art class, producing pieces that were just as good as yours. He already had music; did he have to have art too? You secretly cursed him every time you appraised his artwork and truthfully gritted out compliments because anything else would be a lie, and lying would be disrespectful to his art.

But it wasn’t even an issue.

“Alright, today we’re going to be working in partners,” your art teacher announced and everyone groaned simultaneously.

Artists are, as a rule, solitary creatures. Except Mino, but he doesn’t count as a human (because he’s basically a god, damn it, except for the way he played girls like they were his instruments).

“Do we get to choose?” one classmate asked semi-hopefully but everyone’s hopes were dashed when the teacher immediately scoffed.

“As if. No, I’ve already paired you up by skill level. You will be working with some around the same skill level as you.”

. That meant you and Mino were going to be working together, you knew it. You two were the best in the class; there was no one else your teacher could’ve partnered you with.

“So I guess we’re partners, huh?” Mino smirked at you, having reached the same conclusion.

You glared at him darkly. “Damn it. I really do have bad luck.”

“You should be happy,” he argued haughtily. “Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position right now?”

“Do I look like one of them?” you shot back.

He whistled and shook his head. “Sheath your claws. We haven’t even started yet.”

“If you’re this annoying now, how am I supposed to deal with you for an entire class?” you muttered to yourself.

As soon as your teacher finished calling out the pairs, she clapped her hands together and said, “You should try to get along with your partners. You’ll be working together closely for the next two weeks.”

“,” you swore harshly and Mino chuckled.

“The project,” the teacher continued, “is to paint a portrait of your partner.”

“Please, no!” you cried and Mino raised an expressive eyebrow.

“Why are you complaining?” he asked rudely. “All you have to do is imitate living art, which should be a piece of cake with your skills. I’ve seen your sketches of sculptures.”

“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘living art’?” you snorted disdainfully. “Please, you are far from the golden ratio.”

“You still have it easier than me.” He looked you up and down and then shook his head with a sigh. “I have my work cut out for me…”

You tossed him a threatening glance. “Stop implying I’m ugly or I’ll make sure your portrait is the ugliest thing I’ve ever painted. Maybe I should just paint a demon. It’s not far from reality.”

Mino just smirked. “It’s cute how you pretend you’re not attracted to me. I’m expecting chocolate along with a lifelike portrait on Valentine’s Day.”

You were about to retort nastily but your eyes widened when you realized he was right: the portrait was due on Valentine’s Day! You closed your eyes in desperate resignation. Hopefully, painting with him wouldn’t be as annoying as you anticipated.

“Here’s my number,” he said, sliding a piece of paper with pretty handwriting across your desk. “Don’t give it to anyone else.”

“That’s actually a good idea.”

“Don’t. I don’t need a bunch of rabid fangirls blowing up my phone,” he muttered with a shudder.

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” you observed, and he just shuddered again.

“Text me,” he said. “I’ll let you know when I’m free this weekend so we can begin.”

You wanted to protest and set an earlier date, but then you remembered all of the other more imminent homework calling you and you conceded. Besides, you were a rather speedy painter anyway.

The weekend came and you arrived nervously in front of his house—no scratch that, his mansion, because damn, it was huge. He really was completely loaded. What the hell did his parents do for a living?

A pretty girl a bit younger than you opened the door. She smiled. “Are you here for my brother?”

“No, I’m here for an art project. Your brother just happens to be my partner,” you corrected, but then smiled because she seemed sweet. “Is he in?”

She nodded and widened the door. “Please come in first and make yourself comfortable.  I’ll get him.”

“Oh, thanks.” You stepped in and shed your shoes and jacket, setting your art supplies down before walking into the dining room, where his parents were sitting toge