Disclaimer: I don't own the serie, nor its characters, I just like to play around with them. The title is based on a song of Panic! At The Disco, 'Build God, Then We'll Talk'. This is of course, also not mine. Ya all happy now, you pricks?

Time: First season, Nathan doesn't know his power yet, and he's already kicked out of his house.

To My Readers: This is me wandering into Misfitsland. I didn't know which way to go first, but I ended up here and I like it. I hope you will too.

Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy

It's a bloody cold night and how much Nathan wishes that a smoking-hot girl would be coming trough that door with a pack of cold beer, ready for a long and feisty ride to get him warmed up, he knows that the chances to that are minimum. But that doesn't matter for his cock; the idea doesn't miss its reaction. Besides, no one's is there to scold him for it, so what?

After he's done, he waits until his breathing is normal again and slowly a cocky grin spreads on his face (the one the others hate so much to see). The mattress has been moved two metres away from its original place and his old sleeping blanket looks more torn that ever. But man, that was a good one. Not as good as a real-life, mind (and cock)-blowing shag, but better than nothing.

Still, it's two in the evening (or two in the morning, whatever you prefer) and he's lying in an empty and freezing Community Centre because the pricks that supervise this pile of bricks are too lazy to isolate this place. They will probably be laughing at him together with their probation officer when the others will find him in the morning, turned into an ice cube, so that they have to hang him above a fire like a pig with a stick up his arse and an apple in his mouth.

God, the cold had affected his brain already.

He sighs. He guesses that he could call Kelly, but that would only dub him more as a sad and lonely loser who has nothing else to do than to call one of his other co-workers late at night and whine about the low temperature. And he just doesn't want to give her that satisfaction.

But a bit of real-life, non-imaginable company would be nice. Even if it would be just someone's voice over the phone. His pants buzz.

Or a text message.

He get's his phone out and checks the messages. Can't sleep. Muscles are bloody sore from todays work. Enjoying your wank, ya twat? –K

That girl knows him too well. Now what will he sent her back? He could simply answer her question, poke her a little, make a comment about others reasons that her muscles are sore - (Watching porn before you go to work is not a healthy warming-up love. If you just come 5 minutes earlier, I will get your cold, sore body moving so well, you'll be able to work all day long without a break) – but that's what he usually does.

Here he had a message from his very special lady, and he couldn't disappoint her. Otherwise she would just run off with some boy behind a bar or a car-fixer or whatever kind of loser who got his eyes on her. This text needed to push the right buttons.

A grin is plastered on his face as he answers back. With your knowledge of my actions dear, you would never say that we two aren't a couple. As for your question: if you could come in with a pack of beer and wearing a bikini, my cock would be fucking grateful. -N

He hits sent, then waits a few seconds and then sends her another message. Even better: wear nothing at all. -N

He waits for a few minutes at a reply. Gets up and walks around for a bit to warm his feet because they feel like ice-skates, but then without the skates part, and he looks in the few open closets, but a spare blanket is no-where to be found. Not once his phone buzzes.

Come on Kells, you can't fall asleep! Your muscles hurt too much, you wrote it yourself! Please come and warm your lover up? –N

All right, you can wear a sweater over that bikini. At least make me kiss the painful booboos away? –N

Again, no response. Nathan had tried very hard to stay patient, but at this point he can state with firm conviction that he can't feel his feet anymore and that his fingers are starting to tingle now, so help could better be on her way.

You twat, stop masturbating at my sex-texts and get over here! It's cold, dammnit! -N

I'm not asking it again, you read me! -N

Kelly, please…? –N

He drops his phone on the blanket and drags his hands over his face. It doesn't matter. Kelly had probably fallen asleep after that first text or put her phone out and now he had send 7 messages to a girl who will see them in the morning when she wakes up, but it will be too late by then. At that time, he will already be changed into a snowman and not even her tears of regret would be able to melt-

"What the bloody hell are you doing? You won't get warm if you sit on yer arse and keep textin me."

If he was standing, he would have jumped three feet into the air. At the top of the stairs is Kelly standing, giving him a displeasing look and holding a whole bunch of stuff in her arms. That sight alone makes him speechless.

Kelly is here. He asked her to come and she did.

"I don't have a bikini, and we were out o' booze, but I figured ya would like somethin' warmer anyway," she tells as she places the stuff down. Nathan sees at least two woollen blankets, a pair of socks and a thick grew sweater with Mickey Mouse on it. Kelly pours a cup of tea from the thermos and hands it to him. "I hope you like Earl Grey, cause it's the only kin' of tea my mom drinks."

She's here. He told her he was cold, and despite all his dirty and stupid texts, she came and brought a whole bunch of stuff that he didn't ask for but are like the Crown Jewels to him right now, because she understood that that's what he needed. She understood that he needed help, so she came.

"You could have showed up dressed like the Easter Bunny for all I care," he says. It's still a bit hard to grasp what's happening right now, but the hot tea in his hands wakes his brain a bit. He chuckles. She hears it and raises her eyebrow.

"Whot are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, it just…" he tries to hide the amazement in his voice, but he can't stop it from slipping out. "I can't believe you came."

Kelly shrugs. "You wouldn't have stopped textin me if I didn't. And I couldn't sleep too because my back bloody hurts, so I though it was the best to just come and stop yer whining." She takes the two blankets and unfolds them while he puts the socks and the sweater on.

She sits down besides him on the lumpy mattress and nudges his shoulder. "Feeling better now, ya sorry tramp?"

The socks smell a bit, the tea burned his tongue and the sweater makes him look like a overgrown, immature eight-year old, but as he's sitting under the woollen blankets, Kelly giving him an annoyed smile and complains about her muscle soreness, Nathan decides one thing for himself.

Forget the smoking-hot girl and the beer. Forget stories about paradise or 27 virgins. Forget the idea of the fatherly God. When Nathan Young goes to heaven, he wants this girl to be there waiting for him.

But if his Mother Mary could be wearing a leopard body suit when he gets there, he'll be so fucking thankful.