Chapter Text
Prologue: Six Years Ago
“And the winner of this year's Turner Award goes to…” A pause in which the room of nominees hold their breath as one, the silence like a blanket stretched across them all as they wait, tension mounting higher and higher.
Rupert feels like the anticipation has been building since he first picked up a paint brush, everything in his life leading to this. Every sold out gallery show, every new sponsorship, every award.
His father might say Rupert’s career has burned too bright, too quickly, and was bound to fade at this rate, but his father was also certain Rupert could never make it this far in the first place.
And he took every joy he could out of leveraging his father’s name and legacy to help him get this far. And he’d done it.
His name was in every article, his paintings sold out at every show, his artistry was becoming renowned and all leading to this moment, the most coveted award that any British artist worth his salt is gunning for.
It’s so close Rupert can taste it, hearing his name echoing in his ears again and again, just waiting for it to be called.
He watches the young woman on the stage open the envelope, her smile wide and genuine as she takes a moment to read it, the lights catching a million glittering sequins attached to her skirt, blinking out at him.
Her head snaps back to the crowd, smile dazzling brighter than her dress as she shouts into the room, “Rupert Campbell-Black!”
The cheers are deafening, the applause breaking out immediately, and something in Rupert feels like he’s finally done it, maybe this was the final piece of himself he was missing. He stands, flashing his most devilish smile to the cheering crowd, hearing them get even louder as he makes his way to the stage.
The bright lights shine on him as he steps up to the woman on stage, giving a cheeky wink as he takes the award from her. All of the noise in the room, the celebration and cheer, it’s an infectious energy that Rupert could swim in. Even then, he looks down at the award in his hands, the prestige and success he’s imagined all of his life, lining up to this moment right here.
Delivering a smile to the crowd that he’s practiced, proud and regal, with a touch of humility, it works like a charm, the crowd going even crazier. The heat of the lights soaks right through his tuxedo, warmth filling him inside and out, the high of winning never coming close to any drug he’s ever touched.
“Well, if I can, I must say that the judges have remarkable taste.” The reverberating laugh that reaches Rupert’s ears is fuel to the fire, his smile deepening as he gives the panel of judges his own appreciative nod.
Another moment for the crowd to settle down, and Rupert lets his look turn more serious, “But if I were to be genuine for a moment…” A hush falls in the room, “I would say… My life has been building to this moment. This is what I was made to do, and I think art was made for me. I think this is not only what I was meant for, it’s what I choose every day, and I can’t imagine a life without it.
“Some… May say I’ve reached too high too fast, hurtled towards the sun on unsteady wings, and that I'm bound to fall from a great height.”
He sucks in a breath, everything he’s worked for, the sleepless nights and every project that failed buried in his bones, it was in pursuit of greatness, of glory.
“To quote others before me, 'Icarus flew too close to the sun, but at least he flew.'”
With that, Rupert leaves the podium, award in hand, the crowd of people greeting him with congratulations and introductions, the night quickly becoming a blur, adrenaline and the high of winning burning in his veins.
It’s not until the night is winding down that he finally finds Nicky, talking amongst art collectors, likely schmoozing as one has to in the art world. But then he sees who his friend is talking with and makes a beeline for him.
“Oh, Tony Baddingham, I’m surprised they let you in, and without Monica? Surely her name is necessary to get through the door.” The thinly veiled dislike shines through his tone just perfectly, a smile topping it all off.
Tony, for his part, only gives Rupert a sarcastic thin lipped smile in return, “Funnily enough, Monica was just saying how the prestige of the Turner award has really declined in recent years, she decided she wasn’t needed for this one.”
In any other circumstance, Rupert might have been more inclined to bite back, but not tonight, when he’s on top of his game, even his rivalry with Tony Baddingham isn’t enough to chip away at his victory.
“Oh, cheer up, old boy, you’ll win your own award someday, I’m sure.” Rupert is already turning away, looking at Nicky, “And you! Where have you been hiding?”
Rupert scoops up two flutes of champagne from a waiter when they walk by, passing one to his friend, still leaving Tony ignored beside them. “It’s my night, after all, and I’ve barely heard a word of congratulations from you.”
Nicky responds with his own warm smile, always in good humour despite all of Rupert’s own antics, “You know these sorts of things aren’t only for celebrating, Rupert, some of us actually have to network at these events.”
Rupert’s face twists with disdain, “Oh, must we make everything about business, honestly.”
Nicky shakes his head in light exasperation, but his smile doesn’t waver, “Oh, alright, to my dearest and oldest friend…” He holds the glass aloft, “Congratulations, Rupert.”
They clink their glasses together, Tony quietly fuming next to them, but before Rupert has a chance to needle him again, their attention is instead pulled to the front door along with the rest of the room.
Two police officers come through the doors, Rupert catches sight of them instantly, his interest piqued, “Uh oh… What do you think it is this time? Someone’s had a little too much fun in the bathroom, perhaps?”
To his left, Tony speaks up again, almost all but forgotten, “Or, perhaps they’ve finally figured out we have a fraud in our midst.” He levels a look at Rupert that makes it quite clear who he’s speaking about.
Rupert only flashes him a smirk, “careful, Tony, one might think you’re jealous.”
The officers are stopped by an event coordinator, discussing something that looks quite official, and after a pause, they turn and point in Rupert’s direction.
A sudden chill works its way down his spine as they make their way towards him, Rupert working to keep an easy smile on his face, belying all of the tension now wracking his body.
He can feel Nicky’s own gaze on him with concern, but he ignores it as he steps closer to the officers, hoping to cut this off before it becomes a real scene.
“Rupert Campbell-Black?” One of them asks in a serious tone, a no nonsense sort of man with his buzz cut and square jaw.
“According to the award in my hand, that would be me.” He keeps his tone chipper as he looks between the two, “What can I do for you, officers?”
They share a look, and the unease in his stomach grows at what unknown thought passes between them, “Maybe you should come with us…” The other man says gently.
“Am I under arrest?” His own voice grows sharp, his skin itching and tired of the game.
“No, not at all…” The man sighs before continuing, “We have some bad news… About your ex-wife, Helen, and your kids.”
Rupert’s mouth parts, his brows going up as he stares at them, takes in the grim set to their jaws, their tired eyes. The sympathy he can now tell is radiating from them both.
And the night of glory and glamour, of revelry and celebration, it’s lost. His world turns to black in just a moment.
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ:*
Taggie has had her whole life figured out, she’s known her soulmate is Seb since she was young. They grew up together, with him being Patrick’s best friend as kids, and the two of them always had such an easy time together. When Taggie was younger than her brother and all of his friends, and she struggled in school, she mostly ended up on her own, watching the rest play from afar.
But one day at school, while she sat alone on the swing set, watching a crop of butterflies flit around the flowers in the corner of the yard, already long since set in her ways of solitude so she doesn’t see them approach.
It’s not until they’re a couple meters away that she sees an annoyed Patrick being dragged over by his friend…
Watching them in apprehension, that uncanny sense creeping up on her, telling her this was important, that this moment would change everything.
“I still don’t understand why—” Patrick practically whines, but his friend cuts him off with just a look, causing Patrick to roll his eyes, “Ugh, fine.”
The boy stops a respectful distance from where she’s still swaying on the swing, the leather strap beneath her digging into the skin of her thighs, her fingers aching from where they grip the chains.
Patrick stops before her, and Taggie looks to him for an answer, as he looks from her to the other boy, “uh, this is Seb, he wanted to say hi.”
The next few moments are blurred and lost to time, she only remembers seeing Seb smile, reaching for a hand with dirt still tracked across her palm from the swing, and the flash of light against her eyelids as something takes root deep inside of her, becoming a part of her being.
Her brother looking at them with wide eyes that flit between the two of them, his mouth open as he watched the light flash around them both, encasing them. Taggie remembers the look of concern on Patricks face, a flash of horror as he meets her eye, forever seared in her memory.
In contrast, Seb smiles at her, his blue eyes crinkling with it. The feeling of free-falling while you’re asleep, carefree and comfortable, until the world suddenly drops out from underneath you.