Page 11 of The Heart of Winter

My father was the opposite of every omega stereotype out there, he had a will of steel, completely relentless when it came to getting what he wanted. That was just how all the Lowens were—of every subgender.

Except for me. The failure.

The weakling. The bad apple.

I dropped my head over my plate, shoveling food into my mouth without tasting it, feeling miserable. Some people would be thrilled to get a job with real potential, with the prospect of being at the top one day. But I guess my nature was just too damn bleak.

I always hoped I could live my life simply… fairly. To have only what I worked for. No help, just me. But could I really? Branded with the Lowen name on my back?

And if they all knew the truth about me?

It would be so much worse. They’d laugh. Call me a freak. A mistake.

"You start Monday." My father’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

Blue was right. I overthought things too much. But I couldn’t help it. Sometimes, it felt like I only existed in my own head, like the outside world was a hostile place I just wanted to escape from.

But there was no escaping it. It always found a way to catch up with me. Like today.

My father’s eyes studied my face, trying to read my reaction. But what was there to analyze? Everyone knew I was always moody, the eternal emo, the forever-teen rebelling without a cause, convinced everyone was against him. That’s how they saw me.

Their eyes on me. Watching. Curious. I could already guess what they were thinking.

Lazy fucker. Finally getting off his ass and doing something. Good. Let’s see if he proves he’s a real Lowen. Not some cheap knockoff.

***

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, to my room, the same one I’d lived in since the day I was born, I felt completely exhausted. Just like always after talking to my father. Those discussions were never relaxing; they carried this war-like energy, with arguments and disagreements constantly hanging in the air.

Step by step, with my head lowered, I trudged forward, drained, trying not to think about my new job. Sooner or later, the situation would resolve itself somehow, and I’d already given up, clinging to tiny sparks of hope that maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t turn into a disaster.

I stepped into my room and collapsed into the chair at my desk, staring blankly at the screen, which was still on, displaying the drawing I had been working on for a while.

Unfortunately, I was struggling to focus and refine the next stages of the drawing. Only the outlines were done for now. Not everything had been filled in with color. The most developed part was the sketch of the central figure.

After a moment of hesitation, I picked up my stylus and, with a sigh, selected a fine line tool to start sketching new shapes.

So far, the drawing featured none other than me, sitting in the grass, in a forest meadow, surrounded by flowers, ferns, and various woodland plants. But… something was missing.

The drawing felt empty. The scene lacked depth, or emotion.

On a sudden impulse, I started sketching a small boy beside my knees. The moment I began, my mood lifted.

Every stroke came easily now, and drawing felt more pleasant, as if some kind of energy was guiding me. A round face and large, cheerful eyes quickly took shape.

For a moment, I hesitated over what color to give his hair. Then I filled in the outlined area with an unexpected hue.

My own hair was a deep shade of mint, darker in tone, but I made the boy’s hair a lighter mint color.

Even then, something still felt off. After another brief hesitation, I started sketching a second boy on my other side, for symmetry. After a while, I realized he looked very similar to the first.

I tried tweaking his features, adjusting him, making him different somehow, but in the end, I gave up and left him as he was. My fingers had shaped him this way on their own. Maybe that’s just how it was meant to be?

"Well, I guess you two will just have to be twins," I murmured with a small smile, filling in the second boy’s hair with the same light mint shade.

My drawings always had a manga-style look. I never cared much for realism, preferring this aesthetic, and that’s what I specialized in.

For a while, I studied the image: my cross-legged figure with the two boys beside me. Their cheerful faces seemed to be looking… one at me, and the other gazing off somewhere else?

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