"You think if you let yourself like me again, you won't be able to help liking me?"

It's almost a joke, on his part, the impossibility of that, the certainty of his bridges being burned. So he forces something close enough to a smile to go with it for just long enough to finally pay attention to his coffee. It's cooled to the point of unpleasant already, and he finds himself wishing he'd drunk it still hot enough to burn.

"Come on, you never liked me that much to begin with."