[He calls Fyodor a noodle and the man looks so terribly pleased instead of insulted. It's disgustingly endearing. Chuuya doesn't know what to do with it.

He coughs, ostensibly in response to the dust floating through the air but in reality because finding a response to Fyodor's reaction is difficult. The trap Fyodor points out draws Chuuya's gaze upward, and his brows raise, mildly impressed that at least one of the traps does mean business.] Yeah, I don't exactly fancy becoming a shish-kabob today. We should probably still clear it though, just so no one coming in after us gets skewered.

[He reaches over to grab the now empty pie tin from the previous trap, his other hand coming up to curl around Fyodor's, tugging the taller man along.]

Let's get out of the way first.