Hartley hated how much Eobard still affected him. How much he still cared about him in spite of everything. It was stupid because the logical part of him that was usually so easy to follow knew that the speedster didn't actually care about him. If he had, he never would have done what he had. Of course, he apparently thought of Cisco as a son, and he'd killed him before Barry altered the timeline. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe his vendetta really had taken precedence over everything else in his life. Maybe what they had shared, however small and built more on implication than action, had been real. Even after everything, he wanted it to be.
Fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt, he thought to himself. He wanted to believe that Eobard actually cared, because it meant that his own feelings hadn't been quite so foolish, and that was why he was entertaining something that was probably dangerously foolish.
"It wasn't so much seeing," he said. "It's hard to see someone who was wiped from the timeline." He shook his head at the chair comment. "It's embarrassing that you fooled them as long as you did. But they're very trusting people, so I suppose it's not terribly surprising." Not that he had much room to talk, giving Eobard this chance. At the invitation, he slipped into the apartment, doing his best to try and keep as much distance between himself and Eobard as possible.
"You implied a lot of things when we were talking before," he said hesitantly, "but that's all they were. Implications. I'm tired of dancing around the issue." He needed to keep his composure, but it was hard when it came to this topic. "I was in love with you. You knew that. You used it. And then you turned your back on me. And now I'm supposed to just believe that you really did care? You keep talking about love like you felt that way. But we both know you didn't." Because people didn't love Hartley. He was never good enough. And he could mostly accept that.