To everyone, different sights were sad. For some, it was a ruined book. For others, nothing made them sadder than a page of writing ripped to shreds. To Grantaire, the thing that truly broke his heart was a pair of dusty glasses that rested on his bureau.

The glasses were simple, with frames of brassy wire and the lenses thick. One lens had a fine crack in it, like the crack in the young Frenchman's heart. Abruptly, he stood and picked them up, trying not to disturb the thick layer of dust on them. For him, the dust was its own memorial. It had been important that it stayed- the dust preserved fingerprints and reminded him of memories lost.

Something possessed him, and he lifted the ragged hem of his shirt and polished the glasses. Clumps of grey dust littered the floor and coated his shirt, but he ignored that as he unfolded them.
If Grantaire looked closely, he could almost still see a pair of hazel eyes winking at him from behind the glass. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the perfect nose that the bridge of the glasses had once rested on. He could imagine the blonde eyebrows, raised just above the top of the frames, often quirked up in amusement.

Hands shaking, he lifted the glasses to his face, but stopped when he caught a whiff of something familiar. Like cedar smoke and old cologne, with a faint tinge of the red wine they had shared on many an occasion. The corrosive smell of rust overlaid it all, biting into his nose like an angered beast.

Something unfamiliar rose up inside of him, a choking feeling almost like guilt. Grantaire tried to push it down and continue. He knew he should set the spectacles down and finish clearing out the small room, but the unfamiliar feeling made him slide the glasses onto his own face.

They blurred his vision, but perhaps that was just from the haze of tears he felt prickling at his eyes. How they had helped their previous owner, he might never know. Their brass frames felt cool against his skin, pressing against a bruise he had almost forgotten he had.

The spectacles slid from his face, the dam bursting as tears poured down his face. Without his grip, the glasses fell to the dirty wooden floor. A light crash sounded- the glasses had smashed.

Grantaire walked forward, away from the mess on the floor. Glass crunched under his feet as he walked out of the house that he used to call home, leaving behind only a travesty of glass shards and twisted brass. Only the remains of Enjolras's glasses.