theadora : harry styles

why y/n doesn't like the nickname 'dora'

"What's her name?"

He looks up from his tea, and grimaces. Face still flushed, hair damp from the rain outside, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

She thinks she'd love to immortalise this very moment– this moment where he looks young, but still his age, him in an oversize jumper and socked feet.

"Y/N," he murmurs, then takes another sip of his tea. "Don't."

"What? I want to know."

"You don't."

She huffs into her palms, then places her hands on the countertop. "Tell me."

"I'm not doing this with you."

"I want to know who my ex husband was shagging before he came to see his child. Late."

He looks up with another frown, and the lines on his face shows his real age for only a second before she sees him as the young Harry again– the one she fell in love with the first time.

Harry sighs. "Dora," he says, words sounding almost bitter coming out of his mouth that he needs to swallow.

"Dora... you're shitting me."

"You asked," he spits back, eyebrows raised.

It's another Monday for her. Another Monday of housework before Harry decided to show up because he was in the country.

He had called hours earlier and asked to see Thea for a bit before leaving. That's what makes her angry. Him only calling hours before he fucks off to another country.

Harry's quiet.

She is, too.

Until she breaks.

She laughs into her hands, all dramatic and hysteric. "Fucking hell, Harry."

"You fuckin' asked!"

"Dora? Your daughter's called Theadora, you piece of shit."

"What the fuck are you trying to say?"

"Nothing. Too funny."

"Are you jealous?"

She looks at him with a grin, though it's wiped off when she hears Thea's grunts coming through the monitor.

"Go," she says, motioning at the baby monitor on her right. "Go."