Yellow is a good color.
Fakir likes yellow. It's the color of dandelions and sunshine and duckling feathers, of happiness and smiles and hope. It's the color of the six roses he bought from the florist on Marchen Street, which he is currently pointedly refusing to look at. In fact, right now, he is pointedly refusing to look at anything. Except, he supposes, his shoes.
Yellow is the color of friendship. In some traditions, a bouquet of yellow roses says I want to be your friend. Other traditions hold that yellow roses mean jealousy or infidelity or even rejection—
Well, it doesn't really matter. Fakir offers the flowers with a bright red face and stammers for a while, and he thinks that gets his intended meaning across.