Misa startles, sitting up abruptly at the laugh. She stares at Lazarus in confusion, readying to defend herself if he's daring to make fun of her for sharing something so personal— but it doesn't seem like that. He looks just as surprised by the sound as she was, and the deepening blush on his face makes it clear that he isn't proud of the outburst. Slowly, Misa relaxes her raised hackles and moves past preparing for a fight.

"Mhm... we're okay."

He looks so pathetic like this, crouched over and flushed. There's pity in seeing him this way, but there's also a recognition that they share more things in common than could ever be expected. More than even they know, if these echoes are anything to go on.

They're both messed up. Lazarus just wears it on his sleeve, while Misa has learned to bury it. On an impulse to cheer him up, Misa leans over and pecks him on the cheek.

"You're right. We're just fine."