Dear Daisy| WW2!Harry Styles

Chapter 2

Harry is not a bad housemate. He keeps the house pretty clean, at least the part of it he actually lives in, and the hallway that Daisy's room is in, is for her. He let her rearrange the bathroom to her liking, even though she was going to do either way, and she cleaned out the office next door, with the exception of the desk drawers. They were locked, and when she mentioned it to Harry he simply grumbled "and they're staying locked."

He doesn't go to work very much, even though Daisy knows he's got a job in the office of the company, but even when he's home he sticks to himself. Of course they eat together, and they go to town together because he wanted to make sure there was food in the house that she likes, and sometimes they sit in the living room together, Harry looking over paperwork while she reads a book. She never thought that Harry would be quiet, considering he use to take every opportunity he saw to tease her, but she's not going to complain. She prefers silent, brooding Harry to rude, condescending Harry.

The back porch creaks under his footsteps, letting Daisy know he's come outside. She doesn't look at him, continuing to move her crocheting needle through her yarn. The sun's getting warmer and the grassy dewier, and Daisy's glad she decided to bring a blanket out to sit on. She hates the way wet grass feels on her legs.

She hears Harry come off the porch, and his feet tap on the flagstone pathway, and finally the grass squish under his feet. "For fuck-" he mutters through a huff, not finishing his sentence before he's literally leaping on the blanket next to Daisy. She tries not to snicker as she moves over so there's room for him on the blanket.

"Why's the grass bloody wet?" Harry grumbles, falling on his behind and stretching his legs out in front of him. Daisy looks up, giggling when she realizes he's barefoot.

"I watered it yesterday because it was getting crunchy." She says, trying not to sound to happy that Harry got mud on the bottom of his feet. She's sure he can tell.

"When did ya do that?" Harry asks, leaning back on his elbows.

Daisy shrugs. "Don't know, you were upstairs I think or something."

"Every time I ask you a question, you say ya. don't know."

"I knew the grass was wet." She says teasingly, smirking when Harry let's out his famous annoyed huff. He doesn't respond for a bit, just lays by her and watches her fingers manuever the needle. After a moment, he speaks over the twittering birds.

"Where'd ya learn to do that?"

Daisy hums, finishing her stitch before answering. "My grandma, she taught my mom too but my mother's awful at teaching anything."

"Why?"

"Because she's impatient and rude when someone doesn't immediately think like her," Daisy pauses, looking up at Harry, "you two should get along quite well."

She looks at him long enough to see his eyebrows scrunch and hear him scoff, returning to her work with a smirk. "Maybe you should tell her how rude and impatient I am tomorrow when you have lunch with her and my mum. At least someone in that family will like me."

His tone is bitter, a low mutter in her ear, and for a second she feels bad. Until she remembers that he is rude and impatient, and deserves to be teased by her. It's only fair, and she wants to say so but she's too shocked by his plans for her for tomorrow to even mention it.

"What?" Daisy asks, looking up at him again. He's looking ahead at the fence and growing trees that line the backyard, but he's smirking cockily. She wants to wipe that smile right off his face.

"You're going out with the girls tomorrow. Gotta find a dress for our engagement party."

Daisy huffs, face scrunching in confusion. "I have dresses!"