'John' stepped into his small living room, finding his companion still fast asleep on the blow up mattress. The house may be small, but the two men could always manage around one another. 
       Sam snored loudly, his phone on the end table near the left side of the two-cushion couch. The brunet grabbed it quickly, ensuring he didn't wake his sleeping friend before he stepped to the far side of the room with the other's device. Neither used passcodes on their phones, an unspoken agreement between them as each had to know they could trust the other.
       'John' pulled up Gary's contact name, rolling his eyes at the insane number of messages. Sam always, always, double checked things with the bouncer. Always.

The church is hosting a fundraiser race during the final festival. It's important that the pastor partakes. Could you keep them away from the race course, or set it up so that nobody can see?

       'John' was fairly content with his request, knowing he had to run this no matter what. It was the final summer fundraiser the church had to raise money for school supplies. The offering was hefty, yes, but not enough to meet the goal. The church wanted to donate a backpack to most kids in Miami, full of necessary school supplies.

(Gary)
We can keep everybody off the streets throughout the race, but get out after. 
Be careful using his phone, Morty. You have a very set way of messaging and it was obvious that was you.
Hope you're doing good, kid. 

       'John' set the phone down with a nod, sighing as he walked from the living room now. It was definitely.. hard to leave everybody behind like that. At least, through Sam, he could talk to Gary, could know how the others were doing. 

       The most difficult thing, however, was 'John's lack of freedom. Sometimes he wonders if maybe it would've been better getting him out of Miami. At least he could go on walks without Sam always being there, guarding him. And it's not that he doesn't like Sam, but he sees the red-head every day anymore. He can't leave without him. A person can become boring after a while, just as easily as one can become bored. That's all there was to it.
       'John' couldn't go on bike rides, walks, runs, or otherwise without worrying over who he would find. Sam wasn't overprotective, either. If anything, he was almost too lenient, but 'John' appreciated that. 

        'John' was pulled from his thoughts, blinking after he'd spaced out for a while. There were knocks on the front door, in some sort of pattern. "Sam," 'John' hissed, shaking the man awake. They didn't have a peep-hole for 'John' to see who it was. Sam had to answer the door every time.
       "Mph.. what?" Sam mumbled, turning and rubbing at his eyes. "D-Door," came the response. The ginger grumbled to himself as he slowly rose from the blow up mattress, throwing a shirt on and shuffling towards the front door. 
       "Yea?" he questioned, one hand resting on the door while the other supported himself against the door frame. He made a silent signal behind the door and 'John' quietly walked to the laundry room, shutting the door softly behind him. Sam was still friends with the other bouncers. If one came over and saw 'John', they'd flip their shit and Rick would find the brunet, making all of their hard work to hide him worth nothing anymore.

        'John' sat on the washer, that being the only place he really could sit, and swung his feet, stopping when he found he couldn't avoid kicking the front of the machine and creating a ruckus. There were definitely voices different from Sam's, at least two. From what Morty could hear, it almost sounded like Jeff and Rick himself. However, as Sam must have led them to the kitchen, 'John' found it was Jeff and John, chatting with Sam on what must be their day off.
       'John' didn't mind sitting in the laundry room if Sam wanted to hang out with people. He had his phone for games, and he could spend his time thinking about the race he would be running in about a week. Next Tuesday was the final day for the festival, the day of the fundraiser. The path would be roughly the same as the last race 'John' ran, before his life went to shit again, though extended further. It ran more along the beach front, ending at the bridge. That was wonderful because it meant 'John' could finish the race, get whatever else he needed to do done, and get home before anybody saw him.
       His family, as far as 'John' knew, was told of his 'passing'. While Gary told Rick his family took the body to bury in their hometown, the bouncer told his family he was cremated and scattered over the waves. Morty couldn't wait to see how that would pan out over time, but it seemed to work for now. It probably didn't matter anyway. After seeing Morty aid in killing a man, seeing him draw a gun ready to kill him himself, they had requested some time away from the brunet, and his friends, too.
       God, he was so stupid thinking he could be somebody with a life like that. To this day, months after he'd been put in some sort of witness protection program, 'John' couldn't believe he was stupid enough to think he would be some hot-shot big name because of who he had become. In all reality, he had only been a loud-mouth Daddy's boy with big ambitions. He hadn't been anything. He was just annoying and a toy. 

       "It all comes back to me, Morty, whether or not you want to believe it."

       Yes, he believed it now, but he didn't then, when it mattered, when it could have saved him from this torment. If he had truly listened to every one of those damned warnings thrown his way, to everybody telling him to pack his shit and get the hell outta dodge, he would've been better. He wouldn't be stuck in this hellhole, living his days as an abstinent pastor because 'oh God it's wrong to love a man and that just won't stand for the church'. He would be able to walk around outside without worrying about somebody finding him, he wouldn't be stuck in this tiny ass house with Sam, the man that came home with stories from the club because he still fucking worked there, where Morty had practically lived. 
       But Morty was 'John' now. He was 'John', the Lutheran pastor in Miami, because Morty was dead now. Morty couldn't come back. He was dead to the world, and 'John' was lucky enough to be left holding the memories like a smoking gun after it'd been fired. Because you're left with the smoke in the wake of destruction, with no way to go back, no matter how badly you need to.