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Uraume tugs on his sleeve. “Isn’t that Mahito?”
“Please tell me you’re just fucking with me.”
“Turn around.”
He does.
Of course, it is just like Sukuna’s luck to run into his goddamn ex the very first time he goes -ilegally- clubbing in the gay district, honestly, he shouldn’t have expected anything less from this bitch of a life that won’t give him a break. Actually, tonight was supposed to be his break, and now it’s ruined -crashed, burned, fucking obliterated- since yeah, that indeed is Mahito himself twirling on the dancefloor to a Madonna song remix like some kind of sinister spider. His greasy long hair is flying all over the place and everyone is keeping a safe two-meters radius of distance, which is what Sukuna should have done from the start before he ever got involved with the little psycho.
“I’m considering whether to thank you for the heads up or kill you for ruining my mood,” Sukuna tells Uraume with the exhaustion of a thousand-year-old long-suffering soul in the body of a seventeen-year-old tattooed teenager.
“Don’t take it out on the messenger.” Uraume doesn’t bat an eyelid, immune to his threats, sipping on their vodka. “Just pretend he isn’t here.”
“I don’t give a shit that he is, I just don’t want him to know I am,” Sukuna says with an eyeroll, turning his back to the dancefloor and holding back the urge to scream.
Honestly, of all the nightclubs in the city. The odds are so astronomical he feels nauseous thinking about the number – he hates math and he’s not doing it, so he’ll just leave it at fucking ridiculous.
“I’ll chill at the bar, let me know when he goes get high in the bathroom.” Mahito always ends up passing out hugging the toilet for the rest of the night when he whips out the LSD, ask him how he knows.
Leaving the club altogether is tempting, but that’d imply admitting defeat and he’s not 1) a pussy, thank you very much, 2) going to leave this place without at least one questionable handjob from a hot stranger, a well-known rumored rite of passage in Babylon and 70% of the reason why he came here in the first place, 3) about to leave Uraume here alone on their own when they didn’t even want to come but only did so because Sukuna asked pretty please. Sukuna might be a certified asshole but he’s not an ungrateful one, and Uraume sticks to him with the loyalty of a dog. Ditching them here would just be messed up and not in the way Sukuna usually enjoys taking advantage of.
Besides, there’s no way he’s leaving after all the trouble he had getting in.
First of all, getting that fake ID was a two-weeks-long pain in the ass of a transaction, and second of all, said fake ID was so suspiciously cheap that Sukuna now totally gets the saying you get what you pay for. His picture is badly cropped, the ink pixelated in a way that screams ‘photoshopped’, and when he handed the card to one of the bouncers the guy raised an eyebrow and said ‘1952? Looking damn good, grandpa.’ He only got in because the other bouncer is Yuji’s close personal friend and told him he’d let it slide once, and only once. Todou has now been upgraded from ‘one of my twin’s braindead friends’ to ‘kinda alright guy’, but Sukuna will have to get another not-so-fake-but-still-fake ID if he ever wants to come back in the future (which so far he won’t unless that hypothetical stranger’s handjob is mindblowing enough to overshadow the fact that goddamn Mahito is here).
Sukuna is not entirely bored yet, but not quite satisfied either. The music is alright and the place does have its slutty charm what with the dozens of horny people assessing their best possible target, but he’s a tough audience and not easy to impress.
Sober, anyway. Which he’s not going to be for very long.
He takes out his credit card -well, his grandfather’s, but the old man won’t miss it- and slams it down on the bar, whistling to catch the bartender’s attention. He orders three shots of tequila at once and takes his sweet time getting the salt and lime nice and ready.
It’s after downing the first shot and while he’s sucking on the lime that Sukuna makes the mistake of turning to look at the dancefloor again. Where Mahito isn’t to be found. Because he’s not there.
Shit, shit, shit.
He’s making his way here, dead stare fixed on Sukuna, having spotted him like the massive stalker with a sixth sense he is. The eye contact is already disgusting enough by itself, but the hopeful, childish smile on his patchwork of a face is positively revolting, makes Sukuna’s skin crawl and retreat within itself. Uraume, god bless their soul, catches up to him and pretends to trip so they can spill their drink all over the back of Mahito’s shirt. It won’t be much of a distraction for Mahito’s one-track mind, Sukuna knows, but it’ll buy him at least half a minute of advantage and that’s enough for him to already map out his escape plan.
He grabs one of the two remaining shots and slides it over the bar to the closest guy around.
“Oi, drink's on me.”
“I'm fine, thanks.”
Jeez.
The guy’s not even – nevermind, he is hot enough to turn down a free drink. Still, this is life or death and momma didn’t raise a quitter.
“Get over yourself,” Sukuna tells him, and points over his shoulder with his thumb in the general direction of where Mahito’s coming from. “See that lanky guy back there with the fucked up face tattoos? That's my Chernobyl-levels-of-toxic ex and if he gets anywhere close to me I'll throw up on your shoes, that is a promise. So why don't you just play along with me for a hot minute here and then we'll go our ways?”
The guy with the spiky black hair doesn’t seem all that convinced, but he does turn his head to take a look at where Sukuna is pointing.
“Why me?” he asks quietly, sounding tired.
“You're the hottest guy here by far,” Sukuna lies, hoping this is the feed-ego-get-reward kind of guy.
Well, it’s not a complete lie, he is the best looking one Sukuna’s seen so far, but he was also the best conveniently placed human being in this wrong-place-wrong-time situation, and Sukuna’s usually a picky person but he isn't above exploiting all possible resources either (clearly, he dated Mahito after all.)
“That’s not much of a compliment when you date people like that,” the guy deadpans, echoing Sukuna’s thoughts.
“I was going through some shit, ok.”
And Mahito, all things considered, gave pretty damn good head, one of his two redeeming qualities (the other one being the free drugs).
Spiky tentatively takes the shot and even though he doesn’t drink it, Sukuna knows an opening when he sees one. He slides closer and makes sure his body language fully conveys the fact that he’s trying to get laid and will be successful at it – an act for his ex, of course, but as he takes a good look at Spiky’s face, Sukuna quickly decides that he wouldn’t mind turning it into a reality.
“Good boy, I knew you'd come around,” he purrs, pleased.
Spiky shoots him the most sour of glares. “We don’t have to talk for this.”
Very true and again, Sukuna’s not ungrateful. He ducks his head in acknowledgement and downs his own shot, once more sucking on the lime as he turns as subtly as he can to assess the damage.
Sirens blast in his head even louder than the club’s music when he realizes his scene hasn’t quite been enough to fully make Mahito retreat. He’s stopped mid-step, face scrunched up in distaste and hesitation, but he’s not going away yet and Sukuna won’t give him any chance to resume his approaching. Uraume is watching it all calmly from afar with the clean conscience of someone who’s done their best and is now limited to watching the consequences unfold – Sukuna’s on his own now. So much for loyalty.
Reaching out with his arm, he wraps it around Spiky’s slim waist and pulls him closer with a sharp tug, their hips bumping together. It’s kind of a sexy move, if he may say so himself.
He’s expecting some anger, sure. A few choice words and maybe even an invitation to go throw hands in the parking lot for his shamelessness.
What he’s not expecting is his toes getting crushed by a strategically-delivered step on his foot, causing reflexive tears of pain to well up in his eyes in an instant. Sukuna promptly shoves his fist against his mouth and muffles a scream into it, fingers digging harder into the guy’s waist for support as he doubles over the bar. He bangs that same fist on it.
“Worth it,” he chokes out, agonizing.
Spiky throws the shot of tequila in his face with a quick flick of his wrist.
That is not so worth it anymore and kind of humilliating, but before he can do anything about it Spiky breaks free of his grasp, twists his arm behind his back with one hand and grabs Sukuna by the neck with the other. The bar's edge digs into his sternum and the guy knees him on the back of his thighs, making his legs bend in pain.
“Now make it sexy,” Sukuna cheers him on, voice deliberately low to get lost under the music.
Spiky leans in, body hovering over Sukuna's, bingo. He hisses, “What.”
“There we go.”
Yuji ambushes him the moment he walks -or rather limps- past the door.
“So how was it?”
“Cool.”
“Come on, details!”
It’s honestly both frustrating as fuck and kind of cute that his brother thinks Sukuna doesn’t know he’s as queer as they come and pretty much dying to follow his steps. As if Sukuna didn’t once catch him making out with that friend of his from the movie club, the kid with the bangs Mahito used to love tormenting until Sukuna told him to knock it off on Yuji’s behalf (a secret good deed he’s taking to his grave since being the evil twin is a full-time job and one he takes very, very seriously.)
“The hell are you doing awake, anyway? It’s past bed time for kids.”
“We were born literally six minutes apart, don’t be an asshole.”
Those six minutes might as well be a millennium, he and Yuji are day and night and the only thing they have in common is the good-looks and, again, rampant bisexuality.
Sukuna ignores Yuji’s eager curiosity and collapses on the bottom bunk bed without a word, hesitating for a second before he gathers the courage to take off his socks. As expected, two of his left foot’s middle toes are a deep purple color that tomorrow will surely be black, and when he tries flexing them he’s pretty sure he transcends the mortal realm and sees all of the cosmos, the pain is so earth-shattering. He's no doctor but they're most likely broken, he'll have to buddy-tape them when he's sober. Two, three weeks tops 'til they heal.
The collar of his t-shirt also reeks of tequila, he still gets goosebumps thinking of how close he was to coming face to face with Mahito again, and no, he did not get that legendary handjob.
Yuji’s torso comes into view hanging upside down from the top bunk. “What happened to your foot?”
“Fight,” he lies. “Parking lot. I won. You should see the other guy.”
He's got a reputation, after all.
“Again? Will they even let you in if you go back? What about-”
Sukuna swats him away. “Fuck the fuck off!” A pause. “Yeah, I’m going back next weekend.”
“Take me with you, come on.”
He throws the pillow at his face, Yuji loses his balance and falls head-first down on the floor.
“Not a chance, brat.”
“I thought you didn’t care for the place.”
He didn’t. His answer to Uraume is a non-committal shrug, universal sign for Meh.
“Are you going to hide again if Mahito is there?”
“One,” he holds a finger up, “I did not hide. I improvised, adapted, and overcame. And two,” he raises another finger, “he won’t be there.”
Uraume doesn’t look too convinced but they nod and don’t question it; that’s the kind of blind faith that’s kept them on Sukuna’s good graces for three years and counting. Besides, it’s not up for debate – Mahito won’t be showing his messed up face around anytime soon, not after the dead-inside look on it when he saw Sukuna with his hands all over Spiky at the bar and viceversa. Thank god, he turned on his heels and disappeared into the bathroom to cry it out and get high -Sukuna had Uraume check- before he could see Spiky pushing Sukuna away and fucking off to god knows where.
Sukuna looked everywhere in the club afterwards but Spiky was gone, poof, zero, nada, a ghost.
“Is this about the guy?” Uraume asks, always synchronized with Sukuna’s thoughts in ways that are sometimes scary.
He gives them a less indifferent shrug, universal sign for Maybe.
Sukuna knows about this shit, alright, he’s seventeen but has a natural animal sense for it, he can smell sexual tension from a mile ahead like sharks smell blood. The fell-into-you-by-sheer-chance first meeting, the aggressive physical clash, you name it, he and Spiky had it all in ridiculous amounts for the brief period of time they were in each other’s proximity. Chemistry off the charts, fireworks everywhere, touch me again and I’ll bend you over in half – Sukuna doesn’t want just a handjob now, he wants this guy’s phone number and hopefully a five-hour-long fuckathon in bed instead of a five-minute drunk quickie in a public toilet stall (he wouldn’t say no to that one either, but he’s got priorities).
First of all, though, he has to get his name. ‘Spiky’ just doesn’t cut it, won’t roll off the tongue that well when they’re sweating the sheets.
Uraume nods in understanding and hands him his new fake ID.
It has an actual reasonable birthdate now, a winner.
Humans are creatures of habit and Sukuna is infinitely grateful Spiky is not an exception to the rule.
Next Saturday, same time, same place, he spots him the moment he walks in, it’s impossible to miss that hair. He’s wearing a button-up white shirt that has Sukuna salivating and is leaning against a wall, a sparkling water bottle in hand (Sukuna snorts but doesn’t judge, he didn’t peg the guy as a party animal anyway.)
There’s no Mahito in sight and Spiky seems all alone ready for the taking, Sukuna would have to be an idiot to miss this chance.
He takes off his jacket and hands it to Uraume.
“Watch this.”
“What am I, your groupie?” Uraume still takes it and folds it though, Sukuna really hit the jackpot the day they met. “Good luck.”
Ha, luck. As if.
He pushes his hair back with his fingers and walks right up to him, shouldering his way through the sweaty dancing crowd, all casual posture and confident stance, Sukuna’s a man on a mission tonight and not afraid to show it. Half the fun of the chase is when his target is aware of the game, after all, the other half being when it fights back (not literally, come on, he’s not that much of an asshole.)
Spiky at least doesn’t seem still pissed off from last weekend, simply stares back at him with a blank expression, eyes lingering on the scars under Sukuna’s eyes (long story short, he was a curious kid and the knife shelf wasn’t high enough out of his reach), the tattoos on his neck and chest, his five facial piercings (wait until he gets to the tongue and nipple ones), his hands with multiple silver rings and long fingernails painted black.
It’s a good thing Spiky’s not the kind to hold a grudge, that’d be a bit of an incompatible trait next to Sukuna’s volatile temper and tendency to be a pain in the ass when he’s bored. And Sukuna definitely doesn’t hold any hard feelings after that first encounter, see, they’re already a match.
There’s also the possibility that Spiky’s not scowling because he doesn’t remember but – nah, scratch that, Sukuna knows he’s unforgettable. It’s not arrogance, really, it’s a fact of life. Same way Yuji’s known for his well-intentioned nature and cute smile, Sukuna’s known for his strong presence, the way he can command an entire room just by walking in without a single word. Some people inspire respect and some people inspire fear and then there’s those few blessed ones like Sukuna who inspire both in equal amounts.
So yeah, that move pulled on him last weekend at the bar? A first.
Any other time Sukuna would have slammed the guy’s face into the floor and made him lick the soles of his combat boots, but Spiky did cooperate no matter how half-heartedly (or aggressively) and also, it was hot as hell and he jerked off to it at least three times in the past week, so Sukuna can politely look the other way and let it slide this time.
“You broke two toes so you owe me at least one song for each of them.”
Spiky raises an eyebrow and Sukuna wants to kiss each of his ridiculously long eyelashes, an unusually soft urge that he’s not going to acknowledge anytime soon. First, the fuckathon. Later, the soft pastel shit.
“I’m not a dancer, unless you want me to break more toes.”
Hell, Sukuna might just let him, he won’t be the first nor the last guy to have endured physical torture for a good lay – everyone’s dignity’s got a breaking point, it is usually dick-sourced, and he’s met his.
“What’s your deal here then? You don’t drink, you don’t dance, you just stare all night at the dancefloor like a creep.” He comes in closer, leans in to whisper in a conspirational tone. He’s not being pushed away yet, which is obviously a good sign, he really hopes Uraume is watching and taking notes. “Are you someone’s crazy ex too? Spill it, Spiky, who you stalkin’?”
There’s that glare again, but not nearly half as bitter as the last time. “I like the music.”
“Come on–”
“And I’m my friend’s designated driver.”
Now this is getting somewhere. Sukuna smiles, shaking his head.
“You poor bastard. If he isn’t paying you for babysitting his ass then I say you just let him go back home on his own.”
“First of all, you’re horrible,” Spiky tells him with feeling. “Second, she can take care of herself and I do this because I want to, but thanks for your advice.”
Sukuna takes his water bottle and tosses it away, replacing it with his own hand and dragging Spiky away from the wall.
“Too much talking, not enough dancing.”
See, he’s never wrong about this shit.
For the sake of appearances Spiky does put up some resistance at first, but it’s short-lived and it’s not long before ‘I’m not a dancer’ turns into ‘Only one song, also don’t touch my ass’. Got it, ass is off-limits and Sukuna’s got about three minutes to make the best of this – a lesser man might fuck it up, but he’s never been one to crack under pressure.
Spiky’s undeniably a little stiff, rusty no doubt, wary and barely moving, but Sukuna’s determined to wrench the inner dancer out of him and if there really isn’t one deep down somewhere in there then no harm done, he can still stand not moving a finger and looking pretty. Sukuna won’t hold it against him, everyone’s got different strengths and talents.
He does hold Spiky against him, though.
One hand on his right hip, the other around his waist again, swaying gently at first, giving him room to get used to the motion. Feeling the beat is a skill and, like any other, it’s got to be honed, preferably guided by someone else’s helping hand. Sukuna will go limping back home later with his broken toes swollen as all hell but right now they’re having A Moment, he knows it, he senses it. Bodies flush against each other, the beat picks up and Sukuna levels them up just that little bit, sweat down their temples, Spiky is now kind-of-sort-of following his moves and when the song ends, he pulls back a little but doesn’t actually leave.
Sukuna would tease him about it but he knows he’s already pushing his luck and – fuck it, he teases him anyway.
“See, darling, I knew you had it in you.”
Spiky glowers, cheeks red from the physical exertion, and steps on his sore foot.
Not hard enough to make Sukuna pass out, mind you, just with the lightest weight to send warning-like shivers of pain up his spine.
Sukuna might just be in love, give him another song and he’ll find out.
Chemistry. He’s never wrong about it.
Mahito ended up being a mistake (a big mistake) but Sukuna can’t deny they had just the right kind of attraction at first, something explosive and downright wicked. Then it turned out Mahito was a little too much of a psycho even for Sukuna’s tastes -a frankly impressive feat- and his childish tantrums got a little too old a little too fast. Him messing with Yuji was the final nail in the coffin and breaking up with him was the best thing Sukuna’s ever done for his sanity, not to mention for his twin’s peace of mind.
Besides, Mahito wouldn’t shut up about wanting him to get face tattoos too and even though Sukuna’s always been pretty open to body modifications, he’s not enough of a nutcase for that. As if the scars and piercings weren’t enough, what the hell.
He really hopes Spiky doesn’t take a turn for the worst in a similar way but Sukuna’s willing to give it a shot, it’s not every day that he comes across someone who catches his interest so thoroughly like this. He hits every spot just right – the pretty face, body fitting effortlessly in Sukuna’s arms, the aloof attitude with just the mandatory amount of unpredictable fierceness to keep him on his toes. And he’s strong enough to match, Sukuna can’t wait for the eventual fights, hate-fucking, and brutal make-up sex they’ll someday have.
It’s been an hour now dancing together, Uraume might as well be on the moon for all Sukuna cares, and the tension is so solid he could open his mouth, catch it between his teeth, chew on it, and swallow it down.
It’s happening. Sukuna knows it. Spiky knows it. The two-meters tall guy with the sunglasses who drunkenly dances his way past them holding a drink in each hand and yelling ‘Get some, Megumi!’ knows it.
Spiky’s -Megumi’s- eyes follow the guy with an unreadable expression and Sukuna grabs his chin, turns his head so he’s facing Sukuna again, and only Sukuna, and this is It. This is The Moment, what he came here for, what this dancefloor was built for, what this music was created for.
Megumi swallows visibly -the bob of his Adam’s apple is hypnotizing- but his eyes are heavy-lidded, lashes pointing down and casting shadows under the fluorescent flashing lights of the nightclub, and Sukuna’s ready to make The Move -he’s always the one who does- but then Megumi catches him by surprise by leaning in first and oh, yeah, this is a man after his own heart, Sukuna might as well get down on one knee right now but only after this kiss, the first kiss, the best kiss, the only kiss that’s ever existed–
“I lost her!”
–the kiss that never actually fucking happens because Megumi is suddenly knocked out of his arms by a tiny little bouncing ball of a girl dressed all in blue.
“What?” Megumi sounds almost half as shaken as Sukuna feels.
“I met the love of my life,” the girl shrieks, clearly desperate. She’s a small short thing with chin-length hair, hickeys on her neck, and obviously drunk as all hell, Sukuna can smell from here the half a dozen fruity cocktails she must have pre-gamed. “And then she went to the bathroom and I lost her!”
“How do you lose someone in the bathroom?” Megumi’s asking the real questions.
“I wanted to surprise her with a drink! Whatever, the point is I didn’t get her number and if I never see her again I’ll die. Listen Megumi, emergency search party time. Green hair, ponytail, glasses, let’s go.”
Sukuna grabs Megumi’s wrist with a vice grip and glares at her, eyes narrowed in an obvious silent coded message – Get fucked, don’t you see he’s busy?
The girl clings to Megumi’s other arm and stares back with an impressive coded glare of her own – Like I give a shit, asshole.
Megumi sighs and shakes Sukuna’s hand off of him.
“I have to go.”
“Are you shitting me–”
The girl drags Megumi away and Megumi lets her, disappearing into the crowd within record-breaking time for Fastest Vanishing Act Of All Time.
Uraume soothingly pats his shoulder when Sukuna joins them at the bar.
This is it. Game over. When it comes to clubbing two weeks gone from the scene is a lifetime and by the time Sukuna goes back to Babylon, he might as well be a fossil and Megumi might as well be engaged and married to some nameless asshole, about to build a family with a nice house by the beach and pets. Cats? No, he looks like a cat person but he prefers dogs, Sukuna feels it in his gut.
“Come on, brat,” he urges, desperate. “Let me off this Saturday and I'll take grandpa for two months, I swear.”
“Naw.” Yuji munches on his cereal, ignoring Sukuna's suffering with a pettiness he only reserves for his twin. “Maybe try not to call people names when you're asking them to help you. And I already got plans, sorry.”
The absolute dickhead. Sukuna can now clearly see how they're related beyond having the same face.
Their arrangement when it comes to taking care of their bed-ridden grandfather has surprisingly never been a source of fights but now, Sukuna might actually skip straight to fratricide if Yuji doesn't reconsider his offer within the next five seconds.
“Don't worry,” Yuji adds, smiling widely, and for a breathless moment Sukuna dares hope. “I'm sure he'll miss you! Absence makes the heart– argghhh!”
Sukuna tackles him and strangles him with his bare hands, sending cereal flying everywhere.
He's crawling up the walls.
It's Saturday night and right now he should be cornering Megumi against the bar or the toilet stall or a car in the parking lot, sucking the soul out of his mouth. He wonders how he's dressed, if he's drinking his stupid sparkling water, if anyone else has set eyes on him yet (without a doubt, he's too pretty to be left alone for too long), if he wonders where Sukuna is at all.
Unlikely.
He clearly hadn't given a shit when he left Sukuna at the dancefloor in favor of disappearing with his little bitch of a friend, leaving him alone, hanging, wanting, unkissed and untouched and so horny he had double vision and he wasn't even tipsy, let alone drunk.
He tries to suggest Uraume go alone and be his eyes from a distance, Uraume texts back that he's insane and they're turning off their phone for the rest of the night.
Loyal friend, my ass.
Sukuna's pacing the kitchen, shirtless and barefoot and running his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, when he decides fuck it, the old man can survive a night on his own, it's not like he does anything other than sleep for twenty-three hours a day. If Sukuna hits the road fast enough with his motorbike, he might just make it in time before anyone makes a move on his–
The front door opens and Yuji yells, “I'm home!”
Then a quieter voice follows, “Sorry for the intrusion.”
There's no way in hell.
Sukuna pokes his head out of the kitchen and Megumi stares back at him before slowly greeting him with a raised hand.
He's wearing a cute winter coat, he's left his shoes by the door revealing a pair of socks with puppies on them (he knew it!), and he looks straight up out of Sukuna's deepest, most secret domestic fantasies, something he didn't even know he had up until this very moment.
“That's what you get when you don't tell me anything,” Yuji says, rolling his eyes and setting down on the table a huge paper bag full of groceries. “And when you don't even ask me how my life is going, asshole brother of the year. The kitchen's that way, Megumi.”
Sukuna's still gaping, Megumi takes off his coat and walks past him to go put away sparkling water bottles in the fridge, along with some ice cream tubs. He pauses only briefly enough on the way to push Sukuna's mouth closed - the cold from outside still lingers on his fingers.
“We take the same jujutsu class at the gym,” he explains.
Under his deadpan voice, there's the slightest hint of amusement.
“Movie night, movie night!” Yuji chants, dancing happily and tearing open a bag of chips. “Let's fucking goooo!”
“You're such a dick.”
“Why did you even tell him we fought at a parking lot?”
“Don't change the topic: you are such a dick.”
Fushiguro Megumi shrugs, unaffected.
In the background, Yuji's snoring louder than the explosions on the tv, and Sukuna's back to wondering how the hell he's related to such a moron. Under any other circumstances he would put him out of his misery with a pillow, but as it is, Yuji can stay snoring all he wants for tonight.
He gets up from the couch and drags Megumi with him, heading for the bedroom.
“I'm a guest,” Megumi complains.
He doesn’t stop following Sukuna however, doesn’t even let go of his hand.
Indeed, a man after his own heart.