Here's the key: the narrator must be someone other than the character in question, and he or she must look at the setting through their own eyes to tell the reader something about the owner of the space.
See mine after the jump!
The whole room's messier than I thought. A damp towel hanging from the footboard. A hamper overflowing with wrinkled button-up shirts and formerly pressed pants. Three pair of shiny shoes tossed randomly in the corner. Cookie crumbs on the bedside table. Huh, a midnight snacker. Apparently his perfect professional life is in exact contrast to his messy abode.
The furniture suits him though. The ornate headboard matches perfectly to the rest of the dark cherry wood of his dresser and cabinet. I can see us lying in that soft, king size bed, our legs tangled amongst each other in the silky sheets. My feet padding softly over the hardwood floor, dressed only in one of those soft dress shirts hanging in his color-coded closet. All in good time.
The décor is as simple as I imagined. A few photographs line his dresser. Faces I recognize: his mom, brother, cousin Kim, and me. I never dreamed all those years ago that my feelings were mutual. There's a framed canvas opposite the bed, a old black and white photograph of us. Well, not really us. It was from our graduation trip: our feet brushing each other as they hung over the dockside. A view from his mom's lens. His own camera sits gathering dust by her photograph on the dresser, his old passion lost with her. I know that box in his closet is full of his old photographs; I helped him box them up along with his pain.