A/N: Chapter title came from Sleeping With Sirens' song Stomach Tied in Knots. No, I don't have permission in using it but who actually gives a flying if I do, really? 

Henry could think of three good reasons for not going to Seoul, one of which was thirty-two, balding, and upstairs packing his suitcase.

"I can't speak Korean," Henry said.

"Of course not." The visitor didn't even spare him a glance. "No one would expect you to speak Korean."

The man, Mr. Choi, continued throwing lumps of clothes to Henry's suitcase, occasionally making a sound or scrunching his nose by the almost decaying state of boy's underwears. When the last of his dirty socks joined the pile, he straightened his back and faced Henry like he was meeting him for the first time. "Everything is in there. I mean, almost. Some essentials are in the smaller bag right over there. Passport, plane ticket, the works.

Henry Lau is going to Korea to be a trainee for SM Ent. Yes, that's right. The most coveted spot in the KPOP industry is slowing becoming a reality for the young man. He could almost see those fans screaming and tearing their lungs off at the sight of him (Yeah, whoever actually needs an internal organ when your idol glances your way?), young men who would starve themselves off just to buy poor imitation of those loaned clothes that big-named sponsors would don on him (because honestly, gastriatic ulcer is so much more curable when you are wearing Ferragamo and Ralph Lauren), endless fame and makeups and fashion makeovers. All those are waiting for him right at that very moment.

"I am so sorry for the mess. I s-should've --" Henry stuttered apologetically.

"Don't mention it." Mr. Choi waved his dismissively. "Are you all set? We have a plane to catch."

The man looked like he would bolt Henry and his things through the door if given the chance. He also looked tired, though. As if he had been doing this for too many occasions already that the young canadian’s rotting sweats didn't bother him so much. That must be what garbage collectors feel like, Henry thought.

“Mr. Choi? I don’t think – uh, I am not so sure about this. I mean…” he hesitated. “What if I can’t do it right there? What if I can’t---“

"Listen Harry,"

"-it's Henry."

"I don't care." The man rolled his eyes. "We're wasting our time here. Do you or do you not want the spot? You have a talent, sure, but you are not the only one. I don't care if you can do ballet or ear live frogs while playing the piano or violin or, whatever it is that you play. You are not that special. Hundreds or probably thousands of young folks out there would literally kill to be in your ing shoes right now. So if you think you don't have what it takes or if you think you will miss this cozy little Canadian pancakes, then tell me now so I can go to the next guy and pack his suitcase. Hopefully the next one will have enough decency to have his boxers washed."

Henry would be lying if he say that the man’s words didn’t knock the bejesus out of him. Yes, he knew that he was not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed, nor was he the answer to every girl’s prayers but he must be something, right? After all, auditions for SM is cutthroat – he must be really good if SM is willing to fund his travel and stay to Korea from Toronto. He has talents. He’s fine looking. And yes, his family has enough play money to waste in order to reserve a music career for him. So there, no sir, he is special.

But the man furrowed brows and radiating impatience told Henry otherwise. Like if Henry makes another hesitant move, the man would pounce and run out the door to as if to retrieve another purchase.  Henry was just another item, a merchandise to be sold to hungry fan-girls out there who are more than willing to sell their souls just to have a spot in a back-row in his concert. He was nothing special.

“Alright, Mr. Choi. I am going with you.” Henry smiled meekly, it looked he was half battling a sneeze “I apologize for wavering, maybe it was just the nerves.”

“Okay then. What are we waiting for?” Mr. Choi grabbed his suitcase and dragged it all the way to the door, in case Henry change his mind again. “We still need to stop to Vancouver for another trainee. God, why are you lots live this far? I hope the next one’s bedroom won’t smell like ripe toes.”

As Henry secured his seatbelt for an hour long drive to the airport (and tuned out Mr. Choi’s unending rants about the number of smelly undershirts he had packed for other trainees before him), he gave a last long look at his apartment that has been his home since he decided to live on his own. Yes, he was old enough to have rent a loft, to drive a car, to have , to decide on his future. He just hope that this future he was trying to lay ahead of him is the right one. After all, it is still a cutthroat world, even after audition.

After what seemed like an hour, Mr. Choi finally stopped ranting. His shoulders were heaved, like he was doing this thing for far too many times. So yes, that must be what garbage collector feels like.

So that took a long time. I am so sorry for the delay. Real life is so getting in the way. I promise that the next one will be soon. Comments please? :)