The first day Luke Snyder didn't show up for work, Jenna counted her blessings and celebrated with a large slice of chocolate cake from the bakery over the street.

The second day Luke Snyder didn't show up for work, Jenna wondered about it. But again, she didn't care enough to ask any questions. It was a jam donut that day.

It was only when the guy didn't show up for the third day that she became faintly curious.

As far as she was concerned the young man was just playing out some childhood fantasy.

But she couldn't deny to herself that she had seen a spark of fire in his eyes when he spoke about the job. She thought for sure that he wouldn't miss three days of work for no reason.

Especially as the first instalment of his Detention Centre series had just been printed that very day.

"Hey, Arnold?" she asked the first fellow reporter to pass her desk. "What's up with Snyder?"

The man looked over at Luke's chair as though noticing for the first time that it was empty.

He turned back to her and shrugged, "No idea."

"Hmm." She hummed to herself, chewing on two Jelly Babies at the same time in thoughtful contemplation.

"The kid he had staying with him died."

She hadn't even noticed that Simon, the handyman, was up on a ladder busily changing a light bulb behind her.

"What kid?" she asked.

"Some kid." Simon said, as he screwed in the bulb. "I think Luke said he was 16. They took him in after his parents booted him out 'cause he was gay."

Jenna frowned. "How did he die?"

"Heard it was an overdose. They found him dead in his bed."

"They found him?" She asked.

"Yip. Luke and his husband. Must have been awful, poor kid! Damn waste if you ask me!"

As Simon folded up his ladder and moved away, Jenna tapped thoughtfully at the folded copy of the newspaper on her desk.

Eventually she opened the pages, turned to the Editorial section, and for the first time, began to read words written by Luke Snyder.

"So," she read, "somehow, I find myself in a place I would never have thought I'd ever see the inside of…"

...

Jasmine brought Nicholas and Mia home on the Monday morning; the day after their confrontation with Benoit.

Holden and Lily sat silently to one side as Luke and Noah undertook the difficult task of explaining the situation to them.

Mia had dealt with loss before. She understood that death was forever and that Josh was never coming home. She cried softly into the crook of Noah's arm.

Nicholas on the other hand, took longer to accept it.

A week later he was still asking, "Is he at the hopi-tal?"

"No, Baby. He's not. He's gone." Luke said.

"But when's he coming back?"

Noah sighed, "He can't ever come back Nicky. I'm sorry."

"He's dead like Mommy." Mia said.

"Yes Sweet. That's right." Noah smoothed the top of her head as she sat at the breakfast bar.

"But where did he go?" Nicholas asked as his nose wrinkled in confusion.

Eventually, as the realisation sank in that Josh had left without saying goodbye, Nicholas's reaction was anger. He stormed into Josh's room and pulled the place apart as much as a four-year-old could.

The drawers were opened and Josh's clothing was flung on the floor and stomped all over. The bedding was pulled off the bed and twisted in knots. Josh's schoolbooks were flung around the room, pages torn.

Luke found Nicholas in a sodden mess on the floor; curdling cries racking his tiny frame and making him breathless.

"Josh didn't leave on purpose, Baby? He didn't mean it." Luke whispered through tears as he comforted Nicholas.

The day after the funeral they took the children to lay flowers on Josh's grave and said a proper goodbye. After that both Nicholas and Mia grew withdrawn and sad, waking up frequently in the night and crawling into Luke and Noah's bed for comfort.

Dr. Mishra told them not to worry, that it was a normal response to loss for children so young.

"They'll bounce back sooner than you realise." She assured them. "Children are resilient like that."

Struggling to accept the situation themselves, let alone be strong for the two children, Luke and Noah began to rely heavily on Lily and Holden; more than grateful for their reassuring presence in the house.

When things got too much Luke's parents would take the kids for ice-cream, to the zoo or the beach; giving Luke and Noah some much needed time to reflect on things together.

Or rather Luke did the reflecting.

Luke used the time to express his denial, his anger, his depression and his sadness; crying openly into Noah's arms and gradually working his way toward acceptance.

Noah was there for him, talking him softly down from these moments, stroking his hair, kissing his head; being Luke's strength.

But other than this, Noah continued to keep his own thoughts and fears to himself, refusing to lumber Luke with any of them; concerned only for Luke and the kids and not for himself.

Truthfully, Luke could feel a dark and familiar anger rising up inside.

That old frustration came alive when Noah chose to endure his pain in silence; when Noah refused to see how it hurt Luke to watch Noah suffer and not be allowed access to help.

...

Luke took a swig of extra strong coffee and returned the mug to the coaster by the side of his laptop.

He ran one hand through his hair and began typing.

"For many people the belief that reporters should remain objective means a kind of detachment, free from opinion or bias.

But in my view objectivity in this context does not mean detachment… it means respect; that is, the ability not to distort or to falsify things. Respect for the story being told.

Telling the story as it is."

Luke reread the last line and then deleted 'Telling the story as it is.' He stared at the flashing curser for a second and then continued to write.

"It means telling the truth.

Expecting a journalist to remain emotionally uninvolved in a story is, in my opinion, expecting the impossible. Human beings cannot simply detach themselves from the world they live in.

It would be impossible to come up with stories about things that reflect no interest, thought, or opinion of the person who writes it.

And on this particular article I most definitely cannot remain objective for the simple reason that I am directly involved – Emotionally involved.

This article was originally supposed to be about hope. It was supposed to be the story of one teenager's triumph over his drug addiction.

Instead it has become a warning.

Both for the kids who are still playing with the various mind-bending drugs out there; and for their caregivers…

A forewarning of things to come,"

Luke had to stop.

He closed his eyes for a minute and steadied his breath.

Writing this article was hard. It was bringing up so many feelings of regret he still harboured about Josh. Those nagging questions about whether they did enough to help him.

But at the same time he felt it was his way to honour Josh. Writing was allowing him to play some role in the aftermath of Josh's death; to keep his memory alive in a way that might deter or help others in the same situation.

Writing was definitely making him appreciate the time and memories they had with Josh; it was quickly becoming his emotional outlet for the grief.

After another sip of coffee he set back to work.

"There are many stories like this out there; too many.

But this story focuses on one particular teenager.

I've spoken to many people who knew this boy. Their words tell me he was an incredibly vibrant person; an outgoing soul who warmed every room with his remarkable smile and amazing laugh. He was top of his class in academics and an avid sportsman, winning many titles for his school. He was popular, with a string of friends.

This kid had it all.

But the version of the teenager I've described above was the version I never had the opportunity to meet.

Sure, I would see flashes of him. I felt that warmth and I heard that laugh of which they speak. But by the time this teen came to live under our care, he was only a shadow of the boy he had once been.

Because this boy did something brave. He stood up and he uttered the three words some parents dread to hear, "I am gay."

And for that he lost his home, his family, most of his friends and eventually – his life.

And a fun activity he dabbled in because 'that's what teenagers do', turned into a nightmare."

Luke's mind was buried deep within his article, his fingers flying almost angrily over the keyboard; when Noah came up from behind him to squeeze the back of his neck and kiss the top of his head.

The quick warmth of Noah's hand was a shock to his slightly cooler body and he shivered at the touch; tilting his head back to give Noah an upside-down smile.

As Noah massaged his neck, Luke continued to write.

"I shouldn't have been so stunned when I found out about his addiction. I became an alcoholic in my teens. I battled addiction for years.

When viewed individually, his behaviours could have been chalked up to normal teenaged angst. But when presented collectively, they told an entirely different story.

I should have seen it!

The teenager of whom I write wanted to change. He came to us asking for help and we gave that to him as best we could. But we are not experts and eventually we enrolled him in a rehab clinic, hoping they could help him.

However, two weeks into the programme he came home for the weekend and now he's dead; after taking a stronger form of heroin than his body could cope with."

Luke stopped again, staring at the screen.

"It's really late." Noah told him, interrupting his thoughts once more as he bent to kiss the side of Luke's neck.

Luke's eyes fell to the lower right corner of his computer screen where the white numerals showed the time to be 02:34.

"You mean early." Luke replied, surprised that he'd been writing for so long. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

Noah shook his head. "Your typing didn't wake me, but your absence did."

Noah sat down at the dining chair next to him, one hand on Luke's knee.

"Let me just get this down." Luke told him and returned to the screen.

Noah nodded and sat watching Luke work.

"Josh Carmody, 16, died of an overdose, in his bed in the early hours of a Sunday morning; after sneaking out to steal the heroin from the glove compartment of his friend's BMW.

My family is devastated by what has happened. We still have to remind ourselves that he's never coming back.

Now, as hard as it is, the reporter in me has to take over so that this tale can have an ending. I have to ask the question:

What exactly happened to Josh Carmody?

Well - It starts with marijuana; then processes to a pill and finally ends with a needle. That's the same progression I've heard from all the many bereaved families who have lost loved ones to heroin abuse."

"Are you okay?" Noah asked, concerned by Luke's expressions.

"Yeah, you know what I'm like." Luke explained, stopping his typing to rub his tired eyes. "There are all these words and ideas in my head and I'm desperate to get them down before I forget everything."

"I'm just worried about you." Noah nodded. "You haven't really slept much the past few days, Luke. It can't be good."

"I've tried sleeping. I'm too angry right now. I feel like smashing something and… the writing is the only thing that calms me."

Noah took Luke's hand in his and kissed the top of it.

"If I told you I need you there so that I can sleep, would that make you come to bed with?"

Luke smiled gently, staring deeply at him and swallowing with difficulty as he recognised the intense pain Noah was still trying to hide from him.

Luke stretched out a hand and ran fingers down Noah's face. Noah closed his eyes and kissed Luke's fingertips as they brushed past his lips.

"How about you, hmm, Bubby?" Luke asked him softly. "You okay?"

When Noah's eyes opened Luke watched how they blinked a few times in quick succession; how his breath shuddered slightly as he held the emotion back.

"I just want you to come to bed." He told Luke.

Luke looked down at the floor and sighed. It was frustrating - Noah's lack of communication of his feelings - and Luke couldn't help but be worried for him.

"Okay." Luke said, letting the unspoken words pass between them once again. "Just give me one more minute."

"This dangerous and highly addictive drug is quickly making sinister inroads into the lives of our suburban teenagers. The drug pushers are invading. They want their drugs in every high school - in every city, town and village.

About two years ago, Los Angeles law enforcement investigations began to turn up heroin reports.

Large shipments of the drug seemed to come out of nowhere. And the main target was high schools.

Over the past two years the percentage of teenagers from middle to upper income homes overdosing on this drug has risen by more than…"

Luke leaned across the table to check his notes.

"…8%. And in most cases, it's reported that the teenagers turned to heroin after abusing other substances such as ecstasy and cocaine.

For some this message is already too late – they are so hooked that even the fear of death isn't strong enough to overrule the need for the drug"

Luke stopped and read over the last few lines again. Something was missing; something important -The tie between Josh, the school and the dealers.

"Done," Luke smiled at Noah.

He saved his work and shutdown the laptop before following Noah into their room, slipping under the covers and holding him tightly.

"I need to interview the dealers." He thought as he watched Noah fall asleep.

...

The first day that Luke returned to the office was more excruciating for Noah than he thought it would be.

The studio had been sending copies of his movie's sound edits to the house, and Noah would work on them while Luke typed away at his article.

Luke's editor, Jarvis, had been by the house to pay his respects and to let them know that the first instalment of Luke's Detention Series was receiving rave reviews. The newspaper was inundated with people wanting to know when the next instalment would be printed.

Noah hugged Luke tight as they read the comments together. "I knew you could do it!"

Holden and Lily were both thrilled for him too.

But Luke had decided he wanted to try going back to the office.

Holden and Lily took the kids out to give Noah some quiet but instead of helping he began to slip into a kind of panic. His ears were blocked and his body was sweating. He was sure he would explode and he needed to get out.

Noah left the house and, after driving around aimlessly for a while, found himself parked across the street from Luke's office.

He just needed to see Luke for a moment so he went inside.

He could tell that the receptionist was rather stressed and busy, but she looked at him with sympathy and personally escorted him to the main newsroom and showed him Luke's desk.

It was empty.

He turned to ask the receptionist where Luke was but she had already left. Noah found himself standing in the middle of the busy office, feeling lost.

"If you're looking for Luke Snyder, he's not here."

Noah turned to find a dark-haired woman studying him from behind her desk as she munched on a Hershey bar.

"Do you know where he is?"

"Is there a sign on my desk that says 'Information'?"

Noah lowered his eyes at her.

"This can only be Jenna." He thought.

"No, it doesn't." Noah told her, "But you spoke to me first so I thought you might know more."

"Everything."

"Sorry?" Noah asked her.

"I know everything, actually." Her expression was deadpan and Noah wondered whether she was serious.

"Okay." He said cautiously.

"Are you his husband?" she asked as comprehension crossed her brow.

"Yes I am."

"I heard about you taking in that kid. I heard what happened." That was all she said, but Noah was sure he saw sadness pass over her eyes.

Then just as quickly as Noah thought he saw some sympathy, the bitchiness was back, "If I tell you what I know, will you go away?"

"Sure."

"Great." She replied. "He was here this morning, typed for about a minute and then mumbled something about drug dealers…"

"Then what?" Noah asked, anxiety creeping up on him.

"Then he left."

"On no…" He whispered with dread.

He looked around and spotting Jarvis through the glass window of his office.

Noah burst through Jarvis's door without knocking. A reporter was seated in the guest chair and he jumped with fright at the sudden entrance.

"Please tell me Luke hasn't gone looking for this Dean guy!" Noah yelled at Jarvis.

"Now, Noah… he didn't want to worry you…" The Englishman began.

"Worry me? Shit! Where? Where has he gone?"

Jarvis sighed. "He called to say he was headed down to a neighbourhood called Santa Clarita…"

Noah didn't wait for him to finish; he was out the office and in his truck within minutes; following the directions given by the satellite navigation system.

He tried to ring Luke's phone but, of course, there was no reply.

"Damn you, Luke!"

Once in Santa Clarita he asked a few passersby whether they knew of a street kid named Dean. Eventually he found a young man who gave Noah directions to a particular alleyway where Dean's 'crew' were known to hang out.

The alley was across a large playground, so he left his truck to walk over the park.

There was nobody about but as he rounded the corner into the alleyway he found a man's body curled, motionless on the ground.

"LUKE!" Noah screamed rushing forward and falling on his knees to examine him.

...

Thanks all :)