[Hakkai's standing, now, arms crossed tight against his chest as he shouts: he doesn't know when he stood up, but he feels as if he's been forced to his feet, the words dragged out of him like barbed wire, scraping his tight throat raw and bloody.]

Maybe I could believe you love me if you'd stop treating me like your enemy! Maybe if whenever I said "stop assuming the worst about me" you didn't do this, you didn't turn on me and say I'm calling you stupid, I'm laughing at you, I'm ruining your life, I make you want to die--

-- is that love?

What do you love when you can't stand anything about me and you won't trust me even a little?

Because if it's just my pretty face-- [His arms are uncrossed, hand on his ear, limiters coming free before he can think, and he hurls them to the ground with a clawed hand. His eyes are burning; the monocle falls free, too, dislodged by the shift of his skull around it and hitting the ash on the ground with a soft gray puff.]

If it's just this face, Gojyo, that's not love.