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then, Dazai lifts his head. evening sun streaming through the window paints walls of the agency in golden hues, while everyone in front of it melds together like palm trees in sunset paintings, their figures silhouetted against the light. he gazes at these people, unable to distinguish who they are; a gentle breeze tousles their hair all at once, they laugh simultaneously, and like palm trees swaying in the wind, they emit a single sound. yet he knows if he were to focus, he could distinguish each of everyones’ unique way of laughing. and if he listens carefully enough, he might hear his own laughter too because he finally understands what this is all about, what is there to laugh at. the wind, as if finishing its work with them, comes to him and caresses his head. the sun, merging their silhouettes, shines in his eyes too and the feeling is almost too much for him to bear. his eyes meets with Atsushi’s and the boy smiles knowingly. twenty-two years, he thinks. now I belong somewhere. he smiles back.