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Chronologically between Jan 30 - early Feb

Coming 'home' had gotten dicey, Coiln never knew if his fella would be around or not...or if the big guy would even want his company. It hurt, it really did, but he tried to make things work even after the long disappearance and distance, because it had been his fault in the first place, leaving for a year. A year had made such difference! Could it have really all been his going away? Head down, earbuds muffling the outside world he dropped by the shared flat to put his dance bag away. Green eyes caught the flutter of paper and the first thing that crossed the blond's mind was that it had better not be what I ******** think it is.

But of course it was. Another note from Björn. A feral sounding hiss came from the dancer - he was getting sick of this...lack of communication and note-leaving. Better a note than none, but he would have preferred if Björn had cared enough to talk to him.

"Damn you to hell, Björn Guildson! Goddamn you to Hell!" After giving vent and seething for a bit (which involved mangling a pillow in lieu of Björn's throat) he flipped his phone out - the senshi phone - and pinged Thraen. No, Quenton. Both. Whatever. He felt it only...right that he check, make sure that he was wanted.

Hey Q, you still want a model?

Colin fell face-first across their bed, shuddering, with both phones near one limp hand; he wouldn't cry. Not this time. Waiting to see if he got a reply gave him time to turn on his side and curl up, staring at nothing while the music played on and on in his ears.

It had been said, often enough and by an endless array of personages, that misery loved company. Perhaps that was why he'd reached out to the Eternal the way he had despite their lack of communication in the recent months (which was entirely Colin's fault).

Laying on a bed in a shared room left Colin surrounded by Björn's scent, his thoughts winding and twisting so that when the phone went off to indicate a reply he startled, limbs jerking inelegantly.

Colin pushed himself up from the bed and read the message twice before the meaning actually sank in. Okay. Good. Now he would have something to do that would keep him from dwelling too heavily on how hurt and angry he was with Björn. Being active was good for him, especially since he was pretty certain medication wasn't going to help much for a while.



The blond shuffled about the room, picking up his messenger bag for a moment before changing his mind and grabbing his dance bag, tucking the phones into his jeans and his henshin pen into an inner pocket of the bag. Maybe Quenton would want to have him dance...or pose en pointe. Best to be prepared, right?

Before heading out he stopped to splash cool water on his face and grabbed a jacket. Maybe he should bring something to eat? They could call in or...did it matter? The university wasn't that far (he'd been there before) and a relatively quick bicycle ride would have the dancer wheeling slowly through sprawling buildings towards Bennett Hall. He secured his bike and sent a short text warning of his imminent arrival as a courtesy while making his way to room 404.

Colin knocked short and sharp before opening the door and peeking inside, his duffle hanging off his shoulder. "Hello?"

The sound of Quenton's voice welcomed Colin into the studio and he managed to dredge up a wan smile for the older man. "Thanks. Um yeah, I actually love tea." The dancer looked around, taking in the various implements that were so deliberately set out for use - he recognized a few from movies or art classes, but some things were largely foreign.

Colin moved slowly and set his duffle down on a clear flat surface, unzipping it so he could empty his jean pockets and store the contents where he wouldn't forget them. "Hm? Oh, ah..it's actually going really well. I'm a principle with the Destiny City Ballet now, so I'm pretty busy." Not that being busy had anything much to do with the fact that he hadn't contacted the other senshi before this. No, that had far more to do with his constantly disappearing boyfriend than anything else that might have been going on in his live. With a rustle of fabric Colin shifted and leaned against the table, listening to Quenton's 'good fortune' with the studio acquisition. "Congratulations. It's always nice to have your own space to work in."

"Not really, no. But if you tell me how you want me, I follow directions pretty well. I brought my dance bag, if you wanted something like that." Technically he'd modeled before...just not in any capacity he was willing to explain to the scarred artist.

As much as he wanted to not look like something the cat dragged in (or like he was one slice of onion away from crying), it was hard. Hopefully he'd be able to calm down more while modeling. If nothing else, it was grounding being near someone he trusted. "I've been filmed before - commercials and theater performances, mostly."

With how out of sorts he was feeling, Colin hadn't even considered how suggestive his words might have been. Not that it would have changed much if he had - the dancer was a natural (and typically unapologetic) flirt. Watching Quenton fixing the tea reminded him that he had only answered in a rather stupid fashion when it came to the tea; that he loved it but not how he preferred it. Oops and oh well, tea with milk and honey suited him just fine.

"That's perfect, thanks." Colin accepted the mug, grateful not only for the drink but because holding the cup would give him something to do with his hands while they talked. "I've got not problems with nudity...I'd have a hard time in the dance world if I were shy about my body. Besides, it's art." The human body in general, not Colin's specifically, and also whatever might be made using him as a model.

"I'd say that depends on how complicated the position, honestly. I've done shows where I've had to stand en pointe and in a half-lunge or worse for most of a movement. Plus, I meditate, so I'm used to sitting sit for an hour or more at a stretch. And if you want to listen to music, it's fine by me." There was a saying in the ballet world that if a dancer wasn't in pain, it meant they were dead. Colin might have branched out from ballet into other forms of dance, but he was classically trained and had learned to do things in spite of any discomfort. It was just one of those 'things' you didn't talk about but was always there...he saw no point in mentioning it to his companion.

He took a sip, savoring the tea and closed his eyes with a sigh, "That bad, huh? You're not wrong, I feel like the world's gone sideways." Tempting offer, but they were there...and he really was interested in seeing what might come from him modeling. "But it's alright, I mean...I want to do this. And I'll be fine. I'm just going to strangle someone the next time he shows his face at home again." 'I can't believe you left another ******** note instead of talking to me...you are so in the dog house. Under it. Six feet. Maybe more. We'll see...'

Colin appreciated Quenton's quiet acceptance at his reluctance to talk about why he looked like something a cat might drag in - perhaps later he'd feel like talking, but not just yet. He was too angry and too hurt to want to bear his pain like that to anyone, even someone he trusted like the scarred artist. "Nude it is, then. Maybe toe shoes." He considered a few poses that would work within the parameters given, then a few more. "You want classic ballet or something more along the lines of Magic Mike? Or does it matter?" Horrible movie, but most people at least knew of it...and the fact that any dancing based of it would be hip-hop of the stripper variety.

"Bar might help if you want a more dynamic pose, help keep me from tipping over. What kind of music do you listen to?" The blond inspected the platform while drinking his tea, head cocked and curious about the unfamiliar process described even more so than Quenton's music choices.

"I should be warm enough, but if I end up freezing you'll hear about it pretty quick."

"Classic ballet it is, then. At least, this time." Because he did plan on doing this more than once for Quenton...if the pale-haired man wanted him to, that was. Colin watched, sipping his tea contentedly, as Quenton set up a pole that he planned to use to help balance with. Sure, he could have held a simpler position easily without...but where was the fun in that? 'Attitude...to the back, I think...' While he was listening to his friend? - comrade? - outline his musical choices, Colin toed off his shoes and socks, shoving them aside with a bruised (as usual) bare foot.

As had happened at least once before, the blond was struck by just how intelligent his companion really was. Polyphonic folk wasn't exactly a common musical choice - nor was music from the Middle Ages or Renaissance. Colin only knew a very small amount thanks to his chosen profession (he really did prefer contemporary ballet, but that was mostly due to the fact that it held less strictures about his movement than anything) and the fact that Quenton was talking about it like this was utterly normal, totally an every-day thing really hammered the difference home. "You, my friend, are scary smart. Remind me to never piss you off or play chess with you or anything...I'd get my a** handed to me." At least he sounded...like he meant it in the best way possible, rather than making fun?

"If I wasn't good with classical, I'd be up a creek in ballet. Not much call in the theater for a show based on much of anything else." With a chuckle he scooted over to peer at the laptop, see what was available and would suit the both of them. And his mood. Hmm, maybe not his mood...that would be more along the lines of the harder music he tended to listen to. The sound of the hammer striking wood startled him from musing aimlessly. "I think maybe you should choose the rest, Quenton. I've put a couple things in..."

Instead of fussing with the playlist, he figured it would be best to get down to business, get naked and take his place on the painted stand and see which pose he'd actually end up in. The music wouldn't matter so much once he was up there and it was probably best if it were unfamiliar, to keep his mind occupied and off how much he really wanted to strangle a certain someone with their own goddamned braid. Colin set his cup down and went back to his dance bag for the toe shoes but then thought better of it. There was no way he could stand en pointe for an hour...and that would be the only reason he'd need 'em. Instead he set about stripping down completely, folding his clothing into a neat pile atop his bag and stretching a bit out of habit more than any real need for it. It was calming and helped him focus as it always did.

"Sometimes, and it can be a lot of fun to try putting someone in check and mate, but I'm really more of a checkers man. Or poker." Colin smiled over at the artist, open and amused; no matter how Quenton might try to put forth the ways in which he might not be as proficient with various things as he might seem, he wouldn't be able to convince the blond he wasn't some sort of genius.

"It'd be awfully hard to be in classical ballet if you hated that genre of music." Hard, but not impossible - he knew other dancers that had only studied classical ballet because they'd been told it would help with their form for contemporary dance (ballet and otherwise). Colin pretty much liked it all and was easy-going and quick to learn, which tended to give him an edge that he made good use of. "I once worked with this guy that would only dance to songs on the Top 40s, even though he didn't listen to anything but techno and house music. He was kind of strange about clothing too. Every day it was color-coordinated over-size sweatshirts over leggings." Almost an after thought, he added "Guy was one hell of a dancer though."

Well used to being observed (and even judged) on form as any dancer, Colin let himself fall into that quiet, still place he went while stretching. It was like meditation but with motion and while Quenton was contemplating mysterious artist-things, he had found his center again (which he'd utterly lost reading that goddamned note). "Yeah, unless it's really early in the morning, like the crack of dawn early, I've been at practice." With a small, wry smile he cocked his head, "Pretty much habit. And it'll probably help with not getting fatigued in whatever pose I end up in."

An eye on the raised bar so he wouldn't end up knocking into it like in some awful teen comedy, Colin got onto the modelling platform, testing the feel under his feet the same way he might have an unfamiliar theater stage. Not bad, nothing to jump around on barefoot, but that wasn't a consideration really - just habit to think in those terms. "So this is what it's like to be tall." Not that he was short, just average. Turning and using the bar as a means of testing how stable he'd be, the dancer went through a few ballet forms. 'Not bad, maybe next time, if there is one, I'll do something contemporary...' In the end, he settled into a demi-point attitude derriere position, right hand lightly against the bar should he need it, the other raised above his head. It was a good position...and while being at demi-point made it harder to hold since it required 'pulling up' to hold, he knew it looked better. Besides, he was kind of in a mood to have a physical hurt to distract him. "How's this?"

Initially there was no issue holding the pose, especially as he was interested in catching what Quenton was doing as well. But after twenty or so minutes his body began to feel quite heavy so the dancer had to put effort into staying in position. At fourty minutes his muscles ached and a sheen of sweat made him somewhat shiny under the lights; holding the attitude at this stage was a function of years of discipline paired with meditation.

Which was why when Quenton spoke Colin took a moment to process what had been said. "Ah, I think maybe a half hour'd be better. I'm going to want to rub the muscle out some before getting back up there." Carefully he relaxed his complaining muscles and got off the modeling platform with a bit of a groan. From his dance bag he got out a towel to mop up with and a pair of blue shorts (mostly so that if he wanted to sit his bare a** wouldn't be leaving prints anywhere).

"I think it's harder than it looks, but it's...kind of freeing? I can see why someone might like it, you can almost lose yourself up there." Colin went after the remainder of his tea, smiling at Quenton and settling himself into a chair for a bit. "How'd you get into sculpting?" The sting in his thighs was familiar, much like after a long day dancing, only not as 'all-over' as practice could be; absently the dancer kneaded at the muscles of one leg and then the other.