Work Text:
Since moving into the apartment together, the four Wonderlands × Showtime members had agreed—after a surprisingly serious group meeting at the kitchen table—that they should all either get or keep part-time jobs to help with the rent. It felt a little like running a tiny theatre troupe inside their own home: everyone had a role, everyone contributed, and somehow they made it work.
Rui, naturally, already had one foot in the working world. Between odd jobs at the flower shop and occasional technical work for small theatres, his income was steady enough. Emu, meanwhile, didn’t technically need a job; her family’s allowance covered her portion of the rent with room to spare, though she still promised to “work hard in spirit!”—whatever that meant.
Nene was in the middle of job hunting. Their small dining table always seemed to have at least three open tabs on her laptop: part-time listings, resume templates, and a video of a cat in a cardboard box playing in the background while she researched. Every now and then she would sigh dramatically, and someone—usually Tsukasa—would bring her tea.
That left Tsukasa.
He’d been trying not to stress about it, insisting (far too confidently) that “a star such as myself will be hired immediately!” But inside, he had no idea where to start. Then, a few days ago, he’d received a text from his mother. She worked at a piano studio, teaching young children how to play properly and to enjoy the instrument rather than fear it. The studio was apparently looking for part-time workers skilled in piano—someone to help instructors with warm-ups, guide beginners through basic exercises, and occasionally play accompaniment.
His mother’s message had been enthusiastic, full of emojis and exclamation points, clearly nudging him toward applying. And Tsukasa… found himself strangely drawn to the idea. He knew the basics well enough—he’d practiced piano throughout his childhood—and the thought of helping kids learn didn’t sound unpleasant. If anything, it sounded kind of nice. Something warm. Something grounded.
That evening, when everyone had gathered in the living room—Rui sketching stage layouts on the floor, Nene scrolling through job listings, and Emu polishing off the last of a strawberry parfait—Tsukasa cleared his throat dramatically.
“I have an announcement,” he declared, lifting a hand as if stepping onto a stage.
Three heads turned. Rui raised a brow. Nene blinked. Emu gasped with preemptive excitement.
Tsukasa faltered for a second, suddenly aware that an announcement was very different when you weren’t performing. “My mother’s piano studio is… hiring. They need part-time assistants who know the basics. And, well…” He rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “She suggested I apply.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Emu exploded—literally sprang to her feet, nearly knocking over her empty parfait cup.
“TSUKASA’S FIRST DAY AT WORK! THAT’S AMAZING!!!” She grabbed his hands, bouncing. “You’ll be helping little kids learn piano! They’re going to love you!”
“That isn’t guaranteed,” Nene muttered, though there was a tiny smile forming. “But… it does sound like something you’d be good at.”
Rui closed his notebook with a soft thump. “If your mother recommended you, the studio must trust your skills. And having work aligned with your interests is preferable to taking a random job.” He paused, then added with a small, amused smirk, “This suits you quite well.”
Tsukasa tried not to puff up too much at that praise. “Well—yes! Of course it does! A star must be versatile, after all!” But there was a warmth in his cheeks he couldn’t hide.
They spent the rest of the night talking about logistics—what time he’d need to leave, what he would wear, and how long training would last. By the time they drifted off to their rooms, Tsukasa felt lighter, buoyed by his friends’ support.
~
His first day arrived faster than he expected.
Tsukasa stood by the apartment door, adjusting his scarf for the fifth—no, sixth—time. He wasn’t nervous, of course not. A star such as himself did not get nervous. He simply… checked his appearance very thoroughly. And paced. And double-checked the time on his phone even though it was still five minutes earlier than the last five times he checked.
He reached for the doorknob—
“TSUKASA!!”
Emu barreled into the entryway like a confetti cannon, only barely avoiding a collision. He nearly jumped. “Emu—?! What’s wrong?”
“I’m coming with you!” she declared, thrusting a finger toward the ceiling in triumphant determination.
Her coat was only half buttoned, her hair slightly frizzy from rushing, and she was missing a glove—but her smile could have powered a small city.
“Coming with—?” Tsukasa blinked at her. “Emu, it’s a fifteen-minute walk. You don’t need—”
“That’s EXACTLY why I should!” She puffed up with righteous dramatic energy. “I want to walk you there for GOOD LUCK! First days can be really scary and nerve-wracking and ‘oh no what if I trip in front of everyone’—but if you have someone cheering you on, it’s way easier!”
Tsukasa tried to respond, but she was already tugging him toward the door by the arm.
Nene peeked out from the kitchen, holding a mug of tea. “Good luck, Tsukasa.” Her voice was quiet but warm, and she gave him a small, encouraging smile.
From the couch, Rui didn’t even look up as he added, “Don’t forget your sheet music. It’s on the table.”
Tsukasa jolted. “Ah—! Yes! I knew that. I was simply… testing you!” He scrambled back to grab the folder before Emu pulled him outside entirely.
Once he returned, Emu looped her arm through his with an affectionate, excited squeeze. “Okay! Let’s go!”
~
The morning air was cool and gentle, carrying faint hints of bakery bread from the corner shop they always passed. Tsukasa inhaled slowly, letting it soothe the flutter in his stomach.
Emu swung their connected arms back and forth without rhythm, humming a bright little melody that kept changing every few seconds.
“You’re extra energetic today,” Tsukasa remarked, though the edge of his voice softened into something fond.
“I have to be! It’s your first day!” Emu chirped. “What if you get lost in thought and walk past the studio? What if you start rehearsing a speech in your head and forget to breathe? What if—”
“I don’t do that,” he protested.
She gave him a knowing look.
“…not often,” he amended.
The other chuckled at that, continuing to walk on.
They walked past a small park, dew still clinging to the grass. Emu gasped dramatically as a tiny dog in a sweater waddled by.
“TSUKASA. LOOK. IT’S SO TINY.”
“It is quite small, yes.”
“It’s a baby you can pet!”
“We… don’t have time to pet it,” Tsukasa said, though he glanced back twice as they kept walking.
A few minutes later, Emu leaned closer, voice dropping into theatrical secrecy. “Are you nervous?”
Tsukasa stiffened. “No! Certainly not! A star like myself—”
Her fingers tightened gently around his arm.
“It’s okay if you are,” she said, softer now, a warm counterpoint to her usual spark. “New things are scary. But you’re good at piano. And you’re good with kids. And they’re going to like you.”
Tsukasa’s steps slowed just a little. He looked ahead, then at Emu’s bright, earnest smile.
“…Thank you,” he murmured, voice quieter than usual. “I’ll… do my best.”
“You’ll do great!” Emu pumped a fist skyward, immediately returning to her usual shine. “And I’ll cheer super hard for you on the way!”
She proceeded to do exactly that—giving him small “You got this!” reminders every block, pointing out cute things to distract him, and humming cheerful fanfare whenever they crossed a street.
By the time the studio came into view—a clean, cozy building with pastel signage—Tsukasa felt something unexpected: calm. Centered. Ready.
Emu squeezed his arm one last time. “I’ll see you later, you cute alligator! Go knock ’em dead, Tsukasa! You’ll be amazing!”
“Was there really a reason for that first part?!”
Emu hopped backward a few steps, waving both arms like she was sending a rocket off to space. “If anyone gives you trouble, call me and I’ll burst through the door with a ‘TA-DAAAAA!’”
“Please don’t do that,” Tsukasa pleaded, ears going pink.
Her grin was so bright that for a moment, Tsukasa almost forgot he was supposed to be the dramatic one.
He straightened, inhaled deeply, and stepped forward.
Emu stayed at the end of the walkway, hands cupped around her mouth in case he needed one more cheer—but when he glanced back, she only smiled: bright, steady, and full of pride.
With that image warming him from behind, Tsukasa felt like he truly could do this.
~
Tsukasa pushed open the studio door, a soft bell chiming overhead. The smell of polished wood and faint citrus cleaner washed over him—comfortingly familiar. He’d spent countless afternoons here as a kid, waiting for his mother to finish lessons or practicing simple scales while she corrected students in the next room.
“Tsukasa?”
His mother, Marisa, peeked out from behind the front desk, her expression brightening instantly. “There you are! Right on time.” She hurried over, brushing her hands on her apron before giving him a proud little pat on the shoulder. “Thank you for coming. The kids will be so excited to have someone closer to their age helping out.”
“Ah—well, of course!” he said, standing a bit straighter under her gaze. “It is only natural that a star lends his brilliance to the youth of our generation!”
Marisa laughed softly, familiar and warm. “Yes, yes. But brilliance or not, remember to be patient. Some of them are nervous beginners.”
“I know,” Tsukasa replied, softer now. “I’ll do my best.”
She led him down the short hallway toward one of the lesson rooms, explaining what he’d be helping with today—warm-ups, guiding one student through finger placement, demonstrating a short melody. Tsukasa nodded along, absorbing as much as he could.
When she paused to open a door, he caught his reflection in the small glass window of the practice room. His scarf, carefully tucked away; his folder hugged to his chest; his posture a mix of determination and faint tremor.
'I can do this', he told himself, inhaling slowly. 'There’s nothing to worry about.'
He stepped into the room.
~
The door swung open with another soft chime as Tsukasa stepped out into the afternoon air, cheeks faintly flushed and hair a little mussed. His shoulders sagged with the sudden release of tension—and a small, shaky exhale left him.
“That was… certainly something,” he murmured.
Before he could take more than three steps forward—
“TSUKASA!!”
A blur of pink and energy launched itself from the bench near the studio’s entrance. Emu practically barreled into him, stopping just short of knocking both of them over.
“How was it?! Did you teach a tiny genius?! Did anyone cry?! Did you cry?!”
“Emu—!” Tsukasa held up both hands, trying (and failing) to suppress a smile. “One question at a time!”
She clasped her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels with barely contained excitement. “Okay! Then… how’d it go?”
He paused, thinking back on the carefully guided practice, the shy beginner he’d helped correct, the soft “Thank you” he’d gotten from a little girl who’d been too nervous to play in front of anyone else.
And—unexpectedly—he felt something warm spread across his chest.
“I… think it went well,” he said. Then, with a touch of pride he couldn’t hide, “The children seemed to like me.”
“Of course they did!” Emu cheered, bouncing in place. “You’re amazing!”
He coughed lightly, ears turning pink. “W-Well—yes, naturally. But still…”
Emu stepped closer, her grin softening into something gentle. “I’m proud of you.”
That hit harder than he expected.
“…Thank you,” he said again, quieter than before.
“Wanna walk home together?” she asked, tilting her head.
Tsukasa glanced back at the studio door—then at her, bright as sunlight waiting just for him.
“Yeah,” he said, letting himself relax fully at last. “I’d… like that.”
And as she linked their arms and began happily recounting everything she did while waiting for him, Tsukasa felt the last remnants of nervousness melt away.
Because with Emu beside him, he really could do anything.