Work Text:
Color of your coolin' off is blue, oh
Cold like the bruises on my heart
I keep picking at the scars
Fever high, love sick
We got such a bad love
The air in the studio is thick with the scent of over-steeped coffee and the hum of computer fans. Bang Chan is a silhouette against the glow of three monitors, his shoulders hunched in a way that looks like armor. Minho stands in the doorway, a takeout bag crinkling in his hand. He doesn't go in. He hasn't gone in for three nights. The "Blue Valentine" isn't a date; it’s the cold, flickering light of a cursor blinking on a screen where a melody used to be.
We're faded out into a spark that never dies
Shouldn't touch but I still do it every time
Hot and icy, but I like it
It's so you (It's so you)
Changing minds like weather
Gathering clouds
Lonely in together
I can feel it now (Can you feel it now?)
The flashback hits like a heatwave. It was a year ago, in a practice room so hot the mirrors were fogging. They were arguing over a choreography count, voices rising until they weren't talking about dance anymore. Chan had grabbed Minho’s wrist to stop him from walking out, his skin burning with a literal fever from overwork. Minho had stayed, pressed his cool forehead against Chan’s, and promised to be the one to keep the fire lit when Chan’s light flickered. It was a "bad love," frantic and sweaty, but it was theirs.
We're in pieces, broken glass on the ground
God, I wish we could undo it
Can we figure it out?
The shift is subtle at first—the Sahara turns to Antarctica. Minho reaches for Chan’s hand under the table during a meeting, but Chan is already pulling away to check a notification. His touch is no longer burning; it’s room temperature. Then, it’s cold. Chan starts sleeping on the studio couch to save time and the bed they shared feels like a frozen tundra. Minho picks at the skin around his nails, a nervous habit, creating small scars that mirror the bruises on his heart.
We fight, we sigh, and stop
Always going from Sahara to Antarctica
Rewind, rewind, rewind
It's apocalypse, oh no, it's just a false alarm
Every cut so deep
It's dripping red blood
Broken up forever
I can see it now (Can you see it now?)
A fight breaks out over nothing—a forgotten anniversary, a cold meal. Chan finally snaps, his voice a low, jagged edge. "I’m doing this for everyone, Minho! For the group! I don’t have room for this right now." The words feel like broken glass on the floor. Minho looks at him and realizes Chan isn’t just tired; he’s choosing the burden over the bond. It’s an apocalypse of two, a false alarm that finally became a real emergency.
Rollercoaster, even though we're
Shaken and unstable
Truth is we'll come back together
So it doesn't matter
You might be my end game (Yeah)
It sucks that it's the worst pain (You might be)
They try to "rewind." For a week, Chan comes home early. They sit on the couch, but they are "lonely in together." Chan’s eyes are on his phone, his mind 30 miles away in a recording booth. Minho watches the weather change behind Chan’s eyes—gathering clouds where there used to be sunlight. They are on a rollercoaster that only goes down, shaken by the weight of expectations that Chan refuses to share.
If this love is over
I come runnin' every time (Runnin' every time)
Your heart's getting colder (Colder, yeah)
I'll keep the fire lit in mine
You'll always be my
Blue-u-u-u-u-ue valentine (Always be, my blue valentine)
You'll always be my
Blue-u-u-u-u-ue valentine
Minho stands in the hallway of the dorm, watching Chan pack a bag for god knows how long he'd stay at the studio. The lighting is a dim, melancholic blue. "If this love is over, why am I still running to you?" Minho asks, his voice barely a whisper. Chan stops, his back to him. He doesn't turn around. The silence is the answer. Their love has become a bruise—painful to the touch, a mix of angry red and fading blue, a mark that Minho secretly hopes won't heal, because if it heals, it means Chan is gone for good.
I'm falling over and over and over, ah
You're getting colder and colder and colder
Blue valentine
"It has always been you." Minho says to the empty hallway after the door clicks shut, ("my blue valentine" remained unsaid). He can feel himself falling over and over into the memory of who they used to be. Somewhere across the city, Chan sits in a dark room, staring at a lyric sheet. He types a line, then deletes it. He is getting colder, turning himself into stone so the work won't hurt so much, unaware that he’s freezing the only person who ever kept him warm.
And now that fire faded away— leaving him in that unbearable cold.