[There's a glass of whiskey in front of Dazai on the counter, and it could be his first or his fifth judging by how much Dazai shows it, long-fingered hands drawing indecipherable shapes in the condensation. It's a long moment before he answers, too.

He hadn't decided until he sent that message whether or not to involve Chuuya. After all, Oda was his. Oda had gotten out, even if it was through death. Oda wasn't ever going to be part of the mafia again. And yet...Chuuya had treated him like a subordinate, and Chuuya took care of all his subordinates. Even if they weren't people he knew personally. Even if they were Dazai's.

When he finally answers, his voice is cool, a little distant. He sounds more like...himself, maybe. Like the himself Chuuya was more used to. The Dazai who was all business, in those moments it was required. The Dazai who didn't care.]

We're still upholding the truce, aren't we? Even though neither the Port Mafia nor the ADA are really here, aside from us.

[Maybe he's looking for confirmation, first. Maybe he still hasn't decided.]