You and Fyodor are good friends, or acquaintances , as you’d like to put it. You work together and help each other with each other’s individual goals and needs. Though every time you meet, Fyodor comes with a rose for you. So you’ve met again, just to discuss some plans, and he came with a beautiful blood red rose. He hands it to you, speaking with his thick, Russian accent,

“Here. I got it for you. Take it.”

He places it in your hands and closes it. It seems he took care into removing some of the thorns of the rose so it wouldn’t hurt you. He always gave you flowers, it was like some tradition he had set without telling you. Weird.