Angel glances around and decides to be honest about what he's seeing.

"You've chosen not to make a home for yourself here." Or perhaps it's just that he hasn't chosen to make a home. There's a difference, but either way, Angel's unbeating heart aches a little seeing it. It's similar to how Degas didn't change his home for years, after his wife died; a house haunted by someone who doesn't know how to belong in it alone.