What the hell are ya talkin' about?

[ It's said some measure of force, like the very suggestion of concern is something his whole chest disagrees with, and the quizzical lilt to his voice should tip Angel off that Denji earnestly believes this. Or, in other words, is earnestly unaware that he's worried. ]

Speak for yourself, I'm trying to get him to shut up so that I can sleep. I'm not — [ A flicker of discomfort passes over his face. Denji readjusts his hold on the bags. ] Not that other thing.

[ He leads them up a couple flights, swaying a little with each clunky step, given the sheer weight gathered in his arms. He doesn't really think he's being loud enough to wake any of their neighbors, though, so hopefully they won't have another complaint filed to the building superintendent so recently after their last one. At last, they stop in front of Denji's apartment. One of his hands drops a few of the bags as he undoes the lock and pushes inward. ]

Come on in. Oh, you can put the meat and stuff in the kitchen. It's right past the bathroom here.