He was going to survive.

He decided that rather quickly after reading the letter that Fallon left for him. To say it broke his heart was an understatement—(how could she have been so cold and heartless as to use his body, promise him her heart, and then abandon him with a letter?)—but it was anger that fueled him in the days that followed. Depression led to inaction, but anger... well, anger led to uninterrupted action. To be specific, it had led to action so destructive that he hadn't realized what he'd done until he was left standing in his front yard, struggling to catch his breath as the sun fell low in the sky and and the evening autumn breeze rolled through the hills of the Hebrides.

He'd ruined his yard—completely ruined it, and with only a shovel. Every plant, weed, and fledgling tree was dug from his place, replaced by uneven piles of dirt. It had been an excellent workout and a way to keep his mind busy, but it was not ideal for the long-term. He nearly twisted his ankle trying to navigate the path to his front door and realized then that it couldn't be left that way forever.

Unfortunately for Lachlan, he'd never had much of a green thumb.

So the next morning, he found himself the lone customer of The Florist Potts, a shop he knew was in Hogsmeade and presumably far, far away from wherever Fallon and her lover lurked. He would go in, ask for recommendations, buy supplies, and then disappear back to the Hebrides for another month and a half. He'd be okay.

Unfortunately for Lachlan, the woman assisting him seemed more than pleased to go at her own pace. She'd popped her head out to acknowledge his existence before disappearing for another five minutes. When she finally returned, Lachlan suspected it was going to be a long morning.

"Hi," he began, awkwardly shifting on his feet. She was much younger than him, and much shorter, too—but that wasn't what caught his attention. Did she have... flowers? In her hair? Yep, she did.

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