❄️First Snow, First Step❄️
pairing: idol!anton x female!idol reader
word count: 1.2K
contains: fluff, flirting, having a crush, shy anton
You first meet Anton backstage at one of the year’s biggest award shows. The hallway is crowded with stylists, managers, and idols rushing from room to room, but when you step out of your waiting room in your long, deep red dress, the noise seems to dim for a moment—not because of anything you do, but because every head turns a little.
Including his.
Anton is standing against the wall a few feet away, fingers struggling with the mic pack clipped behind him. His members are farther down the hall, but he’s alone, brows slightly furrowed as he fumbles with a wire that refuses to stay tucked.
You walk past, careful with the way your dress trails behind you. He looks up.
His breath catches—audibly. He bows quickly, too quickly, almost tripping over his shoes. “H-hello.”
You bow back, smiling politely. “Hello.”
You’re about to continue down the hall when he blurts, softly but clearly, “You look… really beautiful.”
You stop.
Slowly, you turn your head back toward him. His ears are immediately red, and he stares down at the mic pack like it suddenly became the most fascinating object in the world.
Your smile grows without permission. “Thank you,” you say gently.
He finally lifts his eyes, just for half a second, and it’s enough to see how nervous he is—how sincere. “Good luck on your stage,” he mumbles.
“You too,” you reply, giving him a quick smile before heading off.
When you get a few steps away, you glance back. He’s still standing there, touching the same mic wire… except he hasn’t fixed anything. He’s just frozen, replaying that moment in his head already.
Later that night, one of his members teases him about zoning out entirely right before their stage.
He doesn’t admit it out loud, but he knows exactly why.
You run into him again a few weeks later during a lineup rehearsal at another event. You’re adjusting your earpiece backstage when someone stops beside you. You glance over—it’s him again.
He looks startled that you noticed him. “Oh—hi,” he says quietly.
“Hi,” you reply, smiling. “Nice to see you again.”
He brightens at that, eyes flicking briefly over your outfit before he forces himself to focus. “Congrats on your comeback. I watched the stage.”
"is that so?” you tease. “Was it any good?”
He nods immediately, sincerely. “Really good. You were… really good.”
You feel a warm flutter in your chest. You open your mouth to respond, but staff calls you. His members call him too. You part reluctantly, both pretending it isn’t disappointing.
The feeling lingers though—light but real.
Your third meeting is beside a vending machine backstage. He stands there holding coins like he’s in the middle of a life-or-death decision. You step next to him.
“Can’t decide?” you ask.
He looks like he might jump out of his skin. “Oh—uh—I just don’t know what I want.”
“You should try this one.” You tap a button.
He buys it without hesitation.
Later, when he takes a sip, you catch his small, pleased smile. “It’s good,” he says shyly.
“Of course it is,” you tease. “I recommended it.”
He laughs under his breath, eyes softening the way they always do when he talks to you.
These moments aren’t long, but they’re enough. Enough for something gentle to grow.
Enough for your stomach to flip when you see his name on your phone.
So when you wake up on the first snow day and find messages lighting up your screen, none of it feels unexpected—but it still makes your heart skip.
Anton: Did you see the snow?
Anton: Are you free today?
Anton: I don’t have schedules… maybe we could go out? If you want.
You grin into your pillow.
“I’m free. where?”
Anton: Anywhere. Just… later? When it’s dark?
You can almost hear the hesitation in his typing. It makes your cheeks warm.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
When you meet him outside the restaurant, the snow is falling thicker, drifting slow and soft under the streetlights. Anton stands there with his hood up, brushing snowflakes off his sleeves as if that’ll do anything.
But the second he sees you, he stops.
Completely.
“You look…” He swallows, then gives up finishing the sentence. “Cold. But also… really pretty.”
You smile. “Thank you. You look cute.”
He turns so pink you swear you can see it even through the snow.
You both start walking—no destination discussed, but you naturally fall into step toward the river. You walk close—it happens slowly at first, then naturally, like the space between you was always meant to be small.
Your shoulders brush. His hand shifts in his pocket as if he’s restraining himself from swinging into you.
“This is… nice,” you say.
He glances at you, eyes soft. “I wanted it to be.”
You catch his gaze for a moment too long, and you both look away, smiling like you’ve been caught doing something intimate.
You talk about simple topics—movies, music, food. Nothing too deep. Nothing too revealing. But every time he laughs, it’s shy and genuine, and every time your eyes meet, sparks linger in the cold air.
At one point, the wind sharpens, and you shiver. He notices instantly.
“You’re cold,” he says softly.
“A bit.”
He steps closer, close enough that your arm presses fully into his.
“Better?” he asks, voice a little shaky.
You nod. “Much.”
He exhales in relief.
You walk like that for a long time—too close to be platonic, too shy to call it what it is. Snowflakes cling to his hair, and he keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking.
At one point, you catch him staring.
“What?” you ask.
His lips curl into a tiny, embarrassed smile. “Nothing. Just… you’re pretty,” he says quietly. “Still… even in the cold.”
You look away, heart racing.
By the time you realize how late it is, it’s nearly 2am. He insists on walking you to your dorm. The quiet city looks dreamlike under the snow, and neither of you wants the night to end.
When you reach the building, the air feels still.
“Thank you for tonight,” you say softly. “I had a really nice time.”
He smiles shyly. “I’m glad you came.”
You take a small step closer, close enough that he stiffens in surprise.
“I really enjoyed this date,” you say.
He freezes.
His eyes widen, then soften, then widen again—like he’s experiencing five emotions all in one second. “D-date?”
You bite your lip. “Unless you didn’t want it to be.”
“No!” he blurts instantly. Then clears his throat. “I mean… yes. I did. I really… really did.”
You grin. “Me too.”
He exhales, relieved. Snow falls against his hood, his lashes. He looks at you like you’re something he’s afraid to touch but wants to.
“Can we…have another one?” he asks quietly. “Soon?”
“Definitely,” you whisper.
He nods, smiling so softly it melts you. You turn to go inside, but he calls your name, voice gentle.
“You looked beautiful that first day,” he admits, cheeks pink. “With the red dress. I kept thinking about it. For… days.”
You feel heat spread across your chest.
“Good,” you say softly. “I thought you looked cute that day too.”
He hides his face for a second before waving shyly. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Anton.”
And as he walks away in the falling snow, you realize something simple and unmistakable:
Something started long before tonight.
But tonight is when it bloomed.