King, The Von Heir

The van's engine hummed steadily, vibrating through the floor as it rolled through the dimly lit streets. August shifted uncomfortably, the seat beneath him squeaking in protest.

The air inside was thick, not just from the heat but from the tension swirling between him and Day.

The pink-haired star leaned back, his arm casually slung over the seat, his eyes sparkling with a playful mischief that made August's skin crawl.

Day broke the silence first, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he teased, "So, papi, you never knew I was the Day Salvatore?" He leaned closer, grinning, his breath brushing against August's cheek.

August flinched slightly, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. "Uh, I mean... I knew you were famous," he stammered, his words fumbling out awkwardly, "but I didn't know you were 'that' famous."

Day's eyes widened in mock horror as he let out a dramatic sigh.

"Everyone in country Z and X knows who Day Salvatore is, but you don't? Oh, papi, you're hurting my feelings," he pouted, placing a hand over his heart and pretending to be deeply offended.

August chuckled nervously, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee, a habit that betrayed his anxiety. The hug still lingered and that's why he's suddenly feeling like a blushing girl.

"Come on, Day. Cut it out," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Day wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily, though.

"Why should I? You're good at what you do," he insisted, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "You've got the looks, the money. What's stopping you from becoming an idol, too?"

August's gaze darted to the floor, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "No, no, no, no, no," he shook his head, almost as if he was trying to shake off the entire conversation. "I'm not as rich as you think I am, Day."

There was a beat of silence before Day responded, his voice softer this time, almost sympathetic. "No one's rich, papi. Not really. I'm not so rich, either."

August looked at him with disbelief, narrowing his eyes as he leaned back into the seat, which creaked under his weight.

"Right," he said sarcastically, his voice laced with doubt. "Your father's mansion, all those commercials… That's not rich?"

Day's smile faltered slightly as he shrugged, "It's my father's money, not mine."

August snorted, the sound sharp in the tight space of the van. "Really? Your father's money? What about all those commercials? Gold flakes, earrings, necklaces that you feature in. They don't pay you?"

Day laughed, a light sound that seemed almost out of place given the conversation. "They do, papi, they do," he admitted, shaking his head, "but it's still not enough. I want 'all' the money in the world before I can call myself rich."

August sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Some of us just dream of being comfortable and happy," he murmured, more to himself than to Day.

Day's playful grin faded as he studied August, sensing the weight behind his words. The engine's hum was now the only sound between them.

The driver's eyes flicking back at them through the rearview mirror, lingering on August for a moment too long. He was wondering, 'Who is this guy? How close is he to Young master Salvatore? A lover perhaps?'

"Eyes on the road," Day snapped, his voice suddenly cold, causing the driver to jerk his gaze forward, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.

August hesitated, swallowing the lump in his throat before speaking. "It's my bank account," he began, his voice strained. "I went for a photo shoot, got paid a million dollars. I had up to three million in there. But now, I can't even access it because the account's frozen."

His voice grew more frustrated, the anger seeping through each word. "The stupid government must've smuggled money in there—more than the account could handle. And now it's frozen. Just like that."

Day's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he listened, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a more serious expression. "So that's why you're here, huh? You're at these auditions, trying to get some cash?" he asked, his tone softer but still curious.

August nodded, his fingers tapping faster against his knee. "I'm not just here for the money," he admitted, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"I'm hoping someone will recognize me—someone who can help. I even called Ric, the photographer. But… I've also been rejected 29 times in two weeks. The Vogue photos I took with Ric? No one wants them. No one even wants to see me."

Day leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he thought, not saying anything for a moment. He glanced out the window, his eyes narrowing slightly as if deep in thought. "Hmm," he muttered to himself, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his knee.

'No wonder I haven't seen him around. I've been searching for him, wondering where he went after that time. Not as a model, not working under any entertainment industry…'

August watched him, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He couldn't quite read Day's expression, and that made him nervous. He wasn't sure if Dag was going to offer help or simply brush him off like others.

But then Day spoke up, his voice calm and steady. "I know someone who might accept you, even if everyone else rejects you," he said, his eyes meeting August's.

"He's like… you know how the motherboard is to a computer? He's like the motherboard of the whole system when it comes to business and entertainment. Any type of business, not just entertainment."

August blinked, disbelief coloring his voice. "You're telling me this?" he asked, incredulous. "And you think I'm capable of going to meet such a person?"

Day leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen to me, okay?" he said, his tone serious. "Have you heard of the Von family?"

The name sent a shiver down August's spine even though it was weird and strange.. no, not entirely strange.

"The Von family?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Day nodded, his expression grave. "Yeah. They're powerful, August. And if anyone can help you… it's them."