He laughs as she protects his "bomb" with her own body. Maybe it could be interpreted as him making fun of her exceptionally even-thinking and reflexive reaction of trying to protect the immediate area from the kind of destruction he could wreck if he wanted to. But he laughs because her response is different -- many people would scream and try to get away, but here she is, trying to protect a bunch of strangers. So Pharah of her. A dark titter in the back of his mind points out that if he really wanted to cause that kind of destruction, one soft body would only provide more shrapnel through broken bones.

And he wouldn't be sitting so close if that's what it was made to do. Sure, he's blown himself to bits before, but it's not an experience he cares to revisit.

His laughter quiets down so that he can practically watch her brain move through all of the different steps to walk from gut instinct to realization of what reality actually handed her. As her own laughter escalates, he's barely a half-step behind her, clutching his stomach and, between the two of them, filling the quiet tea house with tear-jerking, side-bursting barks of laughter.

"All of it!" he practically sings when she finally gets enough air to ask her question. "All for you. Well--" He points at the rings. "The blue one is fer me ta wear."