chase "chip" bell

russel ray / skinner orville / chip bell. 6/5/26 .

The breeze is cool against his skin. Fleeting across his face and sending chills throughout him. There’s sand between his toes, Chip can feel the way the grain sinks under him. Perched here, by the lip of the shore, the world sounds so much sweeter in instrumental.

The riverbank pulls through the surf, rolling against the beach and cupping the rockface there. Chip’s tent perches on the outskirts of the woods, harboring the cusp where the coast licks the land.

Skinner is yelling elsewhere. Chip isn’t quite sure what he’s on about, but there’s a comfort in the knowledge that he’s talking. That he’s still running his mouth. That he’s around. His voice drones off into a white noise as Chip watches him pass. Balancing on a limestone before bracing himself for the next jump. He steadies, he yelps, and Skinner lands evenly on the next rock with minimal damage. Russel cheers.

The latter has got both feet situated on a rock, cowering into himself. He won’t make the jump, he’ll surely slip and fall and regret trying. But Skinner steadies, yelps, and meets him halfway. Extending an open palm to Russel. Chip doesn’t know why he does it, but Russel takes him. Clasps their hands over one another, locks his fingers over Skinner’s knuckles, steadies himself, yelps –

And falls. They both drop unceremoniously into the running stream with a gust of water. Kicking and thrashing about as they scramble for their bearings. Skinner’s laughing, and strangely, Russel is too. Sheepish and stifled, but he’s laughing. Drenched and shivering against the wind, his shorts soaked and shirt damp. Sandals long forgotten by now, his hair dripping against his features. Skinner splashes at him, and Russel is laughing.

“Come on in!” Skinner shouts, waving wildly against the current. “Thought you wanted to be a marine!”

“I don’t remember saying that,” Chip pulls an awkward face, “These are new boots, anyway,”

“So take ‘em off!” Skinner says, like it’s easy.

Russel squeals and shields himself when Skinner flicks water at his face. “It’s– ah! Haha! It’s not that bad!”

“Don’t need tuh be,” Chip plants his palms firmly into the shore. “Ain’t getting in,”

“Boo, buzzkill,” Skinner pulls himself up, encouraging Russel to leverage the rockface. He draws his hair into his palms and wrings it of the riverwater. Strangely, the strands fill out his palms. Leading down his shoulders. He trudges onto the riverbank, and meets Chip at his perch. “Hey,”

“...Hey,”

Skinner’s voice is thick against the seaside quiet, and it knocks Chip off his guard. “Are we okay?”

Chip snorts. “Have we ever been?”

“Sometimes,” Skinner blows air into his cheek, but his lips pinch with a smile. “When you’re not acting like a total dick,”

“I do not,”

Skinner hums at that, only. Unaffected. Chip can’t help the way he looks up, watching Skinner settle beside him and hover his feet into the water. Eyes half-lidded, a steady smile pulling at his lips. Like this was the easiest thing in the world. To exist without rhyme or reason. To breathe in the world around himself without cause for concern. What a way to live.

His lip catches between his teeth. Chip looks back to the shore. “Holler him back before he gets himself sick,”

“Russel? Nah, man,” Skinner shrugs, lashes flitting against the glare of the sun sliding through the greenery. The leaves have begun to turn auburn in their age, but it feels like they had just turned green. “He’s having fun. Never hurt anybody,”

The idea of Russel having fun would’ve sent Chip cackling. But here, right now, it’s right in front of him. Wading through the current and holding his breath. “Until he loses a tooth on that boulder,”

“Hey, then we’ll be matching,” Skinner laughs. “Little man, little me,”

“Yer not exactly a role model,”

“And you are?”

“Sure,” Chip glares, “Gave him my shoes tuh fill, didn’t I?”

“Did you tell him about Santa, too?” A little swarm of tadpoles brush against his ankles, but Skinner doesn’t flinch.

“What?”

“Oh, well since we’re lying to him, might as well,” Skinner doesn’t look up. “You don’t seriously expect him to be anything like you, do you?”

“He could try,” Chip brings his elbow to his mouth and coughs. He's a bad actor, Skinner knows. He’s an even worse liar. “Every man in his right mind should,”

“That’s no man,” Skinner fits a palm against the small of Chip’s back, laughing. “A man would look a little something more like me. Russel’s just a boy,”

Chip doesn’t pull away. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t. Rooted in place like the sand below him had turned to cement and swallowed him into posture. But it isn’t. It’s still sand, and Skinner’s hand is still pressed into him. “Yer worse for him, y’know. Having no expectations like that? If nobody holds him right, then he’ll stay content bein mediocre,”

Skinner hums. “I’m content,”

“What, like this?” Chip blinks. Once, then twice, like he’s expecting Skinner to laugh and slap him and knock it off.

“I wouldn’t wanna be any other way, or any other guy. Hell, certainly not a guy like you,”

Chip stares at him with big eyes, and Skinner cringes. “But yer…”

“Handsome? Athletic? Totally charming?”

The word ‘weak’ balances on Chip’s tongue. Lying in wait to spring off and strike the bastard right where he knows it true. But Chip doesn’t have his voice, and Russel is getting his feet back under himself.

“Guys! Guys!” His feet patter and pad across the shore to where the older two sit, cradling something between his palms. “Luh-look! Look what I found!”

Huh, funny that. Chip’s eyes catch on the slight scruff of a mustache across Russel’s upper lip, and has to hold himself back from snorting. It was bold to assume that Russel was even capable of growing such a thing, but there it was, stretched over his emboldened smile.

“Give it here, don’t leave us waiting!” Skinner gestures him over, leaning his weight further into Chip. His head lolls against Chip’s shoulder, weighing his cheek against the hard bone there. The ball of his shoulder fits into the curve of Skinner’s temple, and Chip can’t urge himself to shake him off. Skinner’s head fits against the muscle like they were made in tandem.

“Be-Be careful. Don’t scare, um, him…?” Russel opens his palms, crouching down to offer them both a view. “...Her? I, ah, don’t really know how to check,”

With a huff, Chip wills himself to entertain the little show, peering into the cup of Russel’s hands. To his surprise, there lies a little critter clinging to the skin of Russel’s palms. Webbed and pronged, with a dull blue coating that tinted it nearly luminescent.

“Holy shit!” Skinner barks out a laugh, bracing his hand against Chip’s spine. “A starfish! How the hell did you pick that up!?”

“I-I don’t know!” Russel nearly squeals, cradling the poor thing, “I just- saw it! Lying there in the stream, and I-.. I thought you might, um, wanna see it!”

“Sure we do,” Skinner flexes his hand into a fist, nudging Chip in the back, “Don’t we?”

Chip groans, but he finds himself nodding regardless. “Never seen one of ‘em in person,”

“Ruh- Really?” Russel breathes. The water must’ve drenched his hair, because it looks longer like this. “I… I showed you something? For the first time? I did?!”

“Aye,” Chip waves him off, grinding his teeth.

Russel blinks down at him. “Does it remind you of anything?”

Chip blinks. “What?”

“The starfish,” He repeats, easily, “Doesn’t it remind you of someone?”

The breeze is cool against Chip’s skin, and the air feels dry against his mouth. Clammy where it blows against the skin of his lips. Skinner cackles. “Sure does! You’re looking at a star right now!”

Chip pinches the space between his eyes and grunts. “Why don’t ye go find another thing then, yeah? Off ye get,”

“And put that back where you found it, Russ,” Skinner snorts, and Russel doesn’t need to be told twice. Clasping his fingers back over the animal before steadying himself, yelping, and jumping onto the nearest stone.

“Don’t ye see? Thas what happens when ye don’t keep yer boys in line,”

“I thought it was just fine,” Skinner rolls his knuckles against Chip’s back, tapping along the stretch of his shoulders. “C’mon, Chase. You can’t expect a guy like Russel to turn macho-man and wind up like you,”

“So I’ve been told,”

Skinner rolls his eyes, but he leans into Chip regardless. Glancing up at him through the umber of his eyelashes. “Hey,”

“...Hey,”

“So, we’re okay?”

Chip hisses. “Ya think this is okay?”

“Well you’re not yelling, or cursing, or throwing a fit, so…” Skinner trails off, “Yeah, I’d say so,”

He grunts. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me,”

“Only bad things, don’t worry,” The latter shrugs, “You wouldn’t have it any other way,”

“Hah,” Chips says outright. “If I had it my way, ye wouldn’t be here tuh cling tuh me,”

“Then how come you’re still here?”

A huff. “Got nothin better tuh do,”

“I think I deserve a bit more than just being ‘something to do,” Skinner laughs at that, and props himself up. The stream slows to a stop, and the whole world does, too.

“Do ya, though?”

Skinner threads a hand through Chip’s hair, and the world comes back in color. “Yeah. A whole lot more,”

The land thrums, the earth beneath them trembles in real-time. The earth stops spinning. His lips are on Chase’s.

Chip chokes on a swear, low in his throat and whipped from his chest; and Skinner breathes it in, mouthing him wholly. Chip can feel the minute it gets good; because Skinner stops latching onto him, and loves him fully. Cupping a hand behind his neck for leverage and kissing up into Chip like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Skinner pulls back, giggling to nobody but himself, and his breath is warm against Chip’s mouth.

“What?” Chip breathes, but Skinner keeps laughing. He can’t remember the last time his voice shook like this. “What? Did I do something?”

“No, no. I just thought of something funny,” Skinner reaches for the dips in Chip’s body, and holds him there. Chip shudders when the waves hit his feet.

“Yeah?” Chip swallows. “What’s that?”

“There’s no starfish in Eltingville,” He’s still giggling, mouthing laughter into Chip’s skin. “Why would Russel find one here?”

His mouth hangs open slightly. “Because… Because it was lost. It was lost, and he found it,”

“And what did he do with it then?”

“He… Russel put it back. He put it back where he found it,”

“Oh, Chase,” Skinner chuckles, eyes softening where his smile creases them. “Then where is he now?”

“He’s still in the stream,” Chip pulls himself away, suddenly, staring towards where the riverbank would’ve been. But there’s nothing. Not light, not darkness. Just empty space and white noise and the breeze against him. The breeze is cool.

“Where are we, Chase?”

“I… I don’t…” The syllables scrape against his throat, pulling against his tongue. “I don’t remember,”

“I wanted this so bad,” Skinner starts, sobered. His hair is so much longer now, it’s threading between Chip’s fingers and swelling in the space between them. “Didn’t you know that?”

“This isn’t… thas not right. That’s not how this goes,”

“But it could’ve been,” Skinner’s voice cracks, sweat and salt collecting in stubble Chip doesn’t remember him growing.

Chip pulls forward. Presses against Skinner’s lips and kisses into the seam of his mouth. Chase shudders, hard, breathing down like he’s grasping at control. He can feel Skinner’s hands reach up to meet him, wrapping around him and holding him taut. Keeping him there, in the sand, in his arms. With him. And then Chip wakes up.