(Enjolras has not read these things, and has no inkling that any joke or other implication might be intended. So far as he's concerned, it's a sensible use of space -- one of the more sensible things about any of these rooms, really, especially since the beds are more than large enough for two friends to comfortably share.)

He snorts, amused. "I suppose so."

He crosses his arms, regarding the room. "It's a bit like living in a hatbox." It's the curvature of the walls.

And the wallpaper. And the everything.

He could live here, because Enjolras could live just about anywhere contentedly with a bed, bathing facilities, and books of political philosophy, but he's just as glad Combeferre isn't likely to want to.