Ship: Futchie (Finch x Crutchie)
Pov: Third Person
Trigger warning: Nope. This is massive floof

"Sir, if you have a cold hot pocket, is it just a pocket?" The boy asked, raising his hand for around the eighth time this lesson, much to the annoyance of the teacher and everyone else around him.

"Mr Cortes, how does that have anything to do with sedimentary rocks and how they are formed? If you hadn't figured, class, that is what we are going to be learning about." Finch, otherwise known as Patrick Cortes, shrugged and subtly glanced over at his boyfriend, Crutchie, who was writing at the speed of light to finish his homework.
The homework in question was meant to be completed last night. But he and Crutchie had a busy night ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ) .....

Hugging Finch's cat (a tabby called Hollie) and baking cookies. What did you think they were doing? So, the homework had slipped Crutchie's mind and he was paying the awful price of not wanting a detention, speed-writing at the front of science, silently praying to whatever god was out there that his handwriting wouldn't be to scruffy that Mr Wiesel could tell it was rushed. Making eye contact with Race and winking, a signal for the chaos to begin in order to save Crutchie from detention. And Racer did not disappoint.
"Sir, Don't ya know dat I has over million followers? I'm famous!" He called, jumping up onto his desk, ignoring the rather large stack of late homework slipping onto the floor as he did.

"Ed Racetrack Higgins, get off the table!" The teacher, Mr Wiesel, a rotten old man with no humour and a hate for the Newsies (maybe except from Crutchie, who was always polite to him) scolded. Everyone, including Race, ignored him, per usual.

"How much does it pay, Racer?" Henry asked with a smile, knowing what was going to happen. It had happened many times before, from the first follower to the 1000th. This was the best plan for a distraction, in Henry's opinion, and right now they needed a big one, as Crutchie was near the front and in Wiesel sight.

"Ya don't need money when ya famous, they gives ya whatever ya want, gratis!" So the song had began, as Crutchie flipped over the third page. Why was it 8 pages long?! He could only pray that the song could hold Wiesel's attention long enough.

"Such as?" Henry prompted, his signature 'up to no good, be worried' grin filling his face as the familiar words hit his ears. The song must have been sung a million times, yet it was so comforting and communal that any Newsie could change the lyrics if they wanted to. Obviously, no-one ever wanted to, but it was the thought that counts.

"A pair of new shoes with matching laces!" Racer practically yelled, feet already tapping a beat. And so it went on, Race leading the song as the others chimed in with their line and jumping up on their desks. Mr Wiesel just sat there in shock, watching the well rehearsed routine.

Crutchie poked Finch's arm, signalling that he had finished and the Newsies could stop. The boy wrapped a arm around the other, watching in comfort as the chaos reigned over the classroom. Mr Wiesel, or commonly dubbed 'Weasel' by the newsies, had stopped feebly attempting to stop the routine about a quater of the way through. Only the couple and Jack not joining; even Davey gave tap-dancing a go. Jack had been banned from dancing with the newsies after the 'incident' (no-one apart from Racer and Crutchie knew what had happened and they had been sworn to secrecy. All anyone knew was that involved a snapped broom, a fire extinguisher and a unfortunate stranger) so he sat in waiting, sketching from what they could see from the opposite side of classroom was a cactus.

Finch winked at Race again, signalling that Crutchie had finished, though that didn't stop the blonde boy's enthusiasm or his dancing feet, leading the others in a routine even though it was very un-needed because of the many times they had done the routine. "Right! That's enough!" Mr Wiesel screeched as they held the last note perfectly.

"Why, Weasel?" Jack asked, smirking at his brother from across the classroom, "I thought they were good!"

"Mr Kelly, if you don't want to stay late after school with Mr Cortes and Mr Higgins, then I would suggest you shut up." Mr Wiesel scolded, "Right, homework, hand it in!"

The room fell silent, filled with suspense as all eyes fell on the crippled boy. Crutchie could feel his heart beating uncomfortablely loud, his hand slipping as he desperately tried to grip onto the crutch handle. Holding onto the 8 pages of dreadful homework, he handed the papers to bad-tempered teacher. You could hear a pin drop. Looking around in confusion, Weasel told the boy, "Thank you, Mr Morris."

(Hi guys, sorry for not updating for a bit, I have a bit of ✨writer's block✨.  I dont like how this one turned out. As always, if you have any ideas or requests, my pms are always open)