Without

Prologue

The throb of the base and the flashing of the strobe lights was one of the few things Farah Wills could remember from that night.
Farah was standing in the centre of the dance floor, drink in hand, dancing ( looked more like flailing at this point) with her flatmate Carrie. They seemed as though they were having the time of their lives, and they quite possibly were.
As Farah went to sip at her drink once more she started to feel the deep throb of a killer hangover beginning to form behind her right eye. She shot her tequila mix down faster than the speed of light.
This is going to hurt tomorrow, she thought to herself.

Over on the VIP section of the club, five men had entered seemingly undetected. They were all dressed nicely and looked through the thin beaded curtain out at the crowd below. Harry Styles was leaning over the edge of the balcony his eyes struggling to stay in one place.
He didn't hear the footsteps of his band mate approach him and was startled when Louis slapped a hand onto his shoulder.
"Go get her, mate!" He slurred drunkenly. Harry wasn't quite sure exactly which girl Louis was talking and furrowed his brow. Louis gave him a dopey smile and returned back to the lounge.
Harry continued to stare out into the crowd for what seemed like forever when he spotted her.
Her long red hair just barely touched the middle of her back, her slim arms were raised over her head, swaying elegantly to a beat of a much slower song. She was slender, but her tight blue dress displayed modest curves. Harry was stricken by how pretty she was. He darted into the lounge and hustled down the steps, taking them two at a time. Harry knew what he was doing with his night.

Farah felt as though she was about to pass out when two solid, tattooed hands slid around her waist. Her heart became giddy. She wasn't one to hook up with guys from clubs-- but at this point she was too drunk to care. She whipped around to face the man with the beautiful hands and vaguely recognized him from somewhere but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
"You're gorgeous" the stranger told her. This was another thing Farah remembered clearly from that night. Almost crystal clear.
She also remembered kissing him immediately. He was a good kisser, and the moment they were sharing got steamier and steamier.

Harry's limousine pulled up almost immediately after he had called. Him and The Redheaded Stranger had not let go of each other yet, their lips tightly entwined. Harry couldn't complain. They slipped into his limo and began the short drive back to his hotel. The Redheaded Stranger struggled to keep up with her clumsy, drunken movements. Harry could just taste the tequila on her lips.
I love that, he thought to himself.
When the limo stopped, they sprang from the backseat, clumsily running towards the elevator that lead up to the penthouse flat. On multiple occasions The Redheaded Stranger stumbled over herself and nearly took a spill. Harry giggled boyishly and swooped her into his arms, which made her erupt into a fit of laughter.

Farah didn't remember much of the sex.

What she did remember was the look in his green eyes. They were sharing something. 

She had a good feeling about him.