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Names had meaning, in the same way any other type of word did. Be it literal, with the etymology, or through the personal experiences associated. That meaning was fluid, it changed with the time, with the context; it ebbed and flowed like the tide. To place limits on that meaning, or claim a person was confined to only one name had always seemed foolish to him.
He was Osh, and he was Daniel. These names didn't negate each other, nor did they negate the name of his native tongue that he had been born with. He didn't place them above or below each other; they were used by different people and meant different things, and they were all valuable in different ways.
That wasn't to say they didn't spark different emotions in him, however. Yes, he found value in them all, but his birth name had never caused the same warmth in his chest as whenever Crow called him Osh, or the fluttering of his heart whenever he heard Miss Maggie call for him. There was no use dwelling on those feelings too long; it would do him no good, and it wouldn't change the truth.
Those names had meaning because they were gifted from the people he loved, and the people that knew him, truly knew him. They signified bonds he wouldn't trade for all the gold and luxury in the world — nothing could replace the feeling of belonging, of certainty, he felt as Crow called him her father, even when she had explanation for her birth, even when he was no longer her only option.
And whenever Miss Maggie had first called him Daniel, he felt what it meant. Felt the claim she was staking over him, despite his silence, felt her persistence simply through the tone. Even when he kept his mouth closed, gave her no response, he could hear the message in her words: she wasn't going to leave him alone, not unless he marched right up and told her to himself. And god knows he wouldn't. She had been an anchor through all the turbulence, remaining steadfast beside him even when no one would speak to him, even when he appeared suddenly with a baby cradled in his arms buying milk and sugar.
He knew how it made him feel, as well. He recognized the gentle, soft echoes it sent in his chest. He was well aware of how his pulse would skip whenever she would bring them a warm loaf of bread, just another sign of how she cared. She was undeniably beautiful, with long blonde hair tied up in a knot and soft, smooth skin. But physical appearance wasn't what drew him in; it was the gentle way her touch would contrast with stern words, and the simple goodness that was present in everything she did.
He knew what these emotions meant; despite how his nature may seem, he wasn't completely devoid of emotional intelligence. He could tell that he loved her, more than whatever such a simple word could ever get across. Yet he had never acted on it. For what reason, he could never quite parse out. There was something holding him back, be it fear of change or loss, or perhaps simply his contentedness of the dynamic they had built.
But sitting in the candlelit room beside her, cold winds whistling outside with snow and ice pelting relentlessly against the glass, he couldn't help the swell of emotions rising in his heart. It was an awful nor'easter, bad enough that he and Crow had had to find refuge in Miss Maggie's home, their own shack no match for the frigid gales. Crow was fast asleep in the other room, Mouse curled up beside her, likely leeching of the girl's warmth. It was late enough that perhaps they too should have been resting, but here they were. Sitting quietly with their respective tasks, Maggie darning a worn shirt while he fashioned himself a new paintbrush.
Perhaps there were better times for such chores, but it wasn't as if either of them could sleep very well otherwise. Storms of this severity always brought a certain layer of uncertainty and anxiety along with them, a fear difficult to shake off. And besides, the candle light was particularly flattering on Maggie, highlighting the soft planes of her face and casting shadows emphasizing delicate lashes.
Maggie raised a brow at him. "You've been stuck making that one brush for over half an hour. Are you sure don't need to turn in yet?" He looked down, surprised to see that she was correct. He had, in fact, been holding that same brush for an abnormally long time.
He sighed. "Just…distracted. Not really the sort of thing to be solved with sleep."
"You're the most focused man I've ever met. You don't get distracted." She tilted her head. "All you're saying is that you've turned your focus onto something else."
He averted his eyes, exhaling heavily. "I suppose you may be right. I am…thinking of another topic." He cut himself off before he could elaborate any further. That same stubborn feeling was holding him back.
"Such as?" She asked, leaning closer. "It's not like you to be so vague. It must be something important to trip you up like this."
"Yes; I suppose it is important." His brows twitched together. "And it is something I'd like to share with you. I'm just not entirely sure how to say it. Or that you'd want to hear it at all." He admitted.
"That's just foolish, Daniel. What could you possibly have to say that I wouldn't want to hear?" It was said harshly, but that didn't undercut the confession in it. The meaning.
He exhaled with a slight glint of humor in his eyes. "You say that, yet I seem to recall several times in which you've told me off for what I've said."
"Only when you're acting senselessly. And that doesn't mean I don't want to hear it." She said with a snort.
This was as good a time as any to tell her, he decided. He could only hope that, should he face rejection, they could remain amiable. "Well…you and Crow are some of the most important things in my life," He began, "and I'd be happy to have you two in whatever way given."
He exhaled heavily, forcing the words out. "And despite that, I just can't help but wish for…more, with you." He broke of as his voice wavered — he could not pull any more words out, he would simply have to hope he was understood.
Maggie's eyebrows raised into a stunned expression. "Do you really mean that? Would you really want that?"
He nodded with certainty. His pulse was thumping like a jackrabbit, but he tried not to betray his nervousness in his expression. "I would, if you would as well."
A smile twitched on her lips. "Of course, Daniel. I couldn't ask for anything better." She had a slight wetness in her eyes. "I never thought you would feel the same. I had always felt that I had- forced my way into your life, I suppose. I didn't think you would want to keep me there."
"In a way you did. But that only makes me want to keep you even more." He admitted. "If it hadn't been for you, I don't even know where I would be right now. Certainly not as well off as I am now. Certainly not as happy."
She let out a chuckle. "This probably won't make much of a change in how we act anyways. We've been acting like a couple for so long I think the only development is the confirmation."
"I wouldn't have it any other way. I meant what I said before — I like how we are now." He looked away, a light flush sneaking up his neck in a rare show of fluster. "Though I suppose I wouldn't mind…a few developments. Towards the romantic."
A similar redness appeared on her cheeks. "Yes, I'd be inclined to agree with you." She leaned closer, until their lips were almost touching. "Perhaps something like this?" She gently brushed their lips together.
His pulse kicked back to its earlier heights once again. He stared into her eyes, lips slightly parted, and nodded. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted it all with her — highs and lows, fights and sweet nothings. He would weather it for her, anything they faced. Because she had meaning, so, so much meaning to him. Their pasts didn't matter, not in that moment; only the present feeling of love and the future they could build together mattered to him.
Because he wouldn't let her go. He couldn't. She had cemented herself so firmly in his life that to remove her would gut him. Perhaps it was good, then, that he was making no such efforts. He was in fact, only working to further ingrain her. She was, after all, the one who had given him his name — not his only name, but the one she had chosen. And the one he would keep.