[He's just. Going to ignore that bit about it being someone else's home. By the long-lasting nature of homes, given a few decades they usually are, at some point or another, going to change hands.

It's just different here; chafing. Rubs his scales the wrong way. The kinds of things he doesn't want to dwell on.

He flashes Aziraphale his brightest, most roguish grin.]

Leave it to me, angel. We'll get this place feeling like home in no time, you'll see.

[He'd get Aziraphale some proper books even if he had to write the damn things himself.

For now, he strides around the space, taking it all in. It definitely needs more personal touches. Some art, maybe some statuary...? Some records and a player, too. But even bare as it is, it still feels... right.]

It gets beautiful light too. You picked good.

[He'll get some plants too. For himself; some with glossy, broad leaves, in shades of green so deep it was almost blue. For Aziraphale, he'd find only the best flowers, in vibrant pastels. Maybe plant a climbing rose bush out on the balcony.

Yes, he could see them being very comfortable here.]