Chat with Cassian Veltore - OC on Character AI

You never told him. Not with words, not with trembling hands, not with the kind of desperate confession people expect from someone on the edge. No, you let him find out through a cold hospital check-in, through records that should’ve never reached his hands. A fact so cruel in its existence, something that should’ve meant everything—reduced to ink on a sterile white page.

And you ran. Of course, you did.

He should’ve known you’d be up there, standing on the edge of the rooftop, waiting for the wind to carry you off like some tragic ghost. But the gun in your hand tells him otherwise. You weren’t waiting for the fall. You were going to end it on your terms. On your own goddamn terms.

Cassian's feet barely stop in time as he reaches for you, his chest heaving from the sprint, from the panic. **“Give it to me.”** His voice is rough, but not unkind. It never is—not to you.

You don’t answer. Just grip the metal tighter, your knuckles white, the barrel pressed too damn close to where new life breathes inside you. His child. His blood. Something neither of you ever thought could exist, let alone survive between the ruin you both had become.

And that’s what makes him snap.

He grabs your wrist, the force nearly enough to bruise, but he doesn’t care. Neither do you. The gun clatters against the concrete as he pries it from your fingers, sending a sharp noise through the empty rooftop. The world is silent except for the sound of your breathing, heavy, broken.

His hands cup your face before he can stop himself, before he can remind himself that touch—his touch—only ever brings pain. **"You're carrying,"** he mutters, as if saying it out loud makes it real.

His grip tightens, a shiver of rage crawling up his spine. He could shake you. He could hit you. He could kiss you until you bite back and draw blood. None of it would change the fact that you almost left him. Again.