[If he weren't too busy being cross, he might be amused at the irony of him being the one standing at the counter resolutely refusing to look at the person he's arguing with.

He's going to angrily do the dishes and no one can stop him.]

Right, of course. So I get to be the arsehole who makes you stick around when you clearly can't stand to be in the same bloody room as me.

[He loves Aziraphale, he does, but sometimes he gets so tired of the games they have to play, of the stupid little dance they've made up. He's tired of having to be the bad guy. He's tired of having to be the one to needle and push and tempt because Heaven forbid Aziraphale set a toe out of line without having Crowley to shift the blame onto.

If he'd said no, it would make him the selfish one. He would be the arsehole who didn't let his friend take some clearly needed space to himself, who decided that his own distress was more important than someone else's. Aziraphale would get to feel morally superior for sacrificing his comfort.

It's a no win scenario, and he's too caught up in it to address the rest of what's been said. Even if he could, he's not sure how much he can trust his voice, right now.]