Marcus snorted. "Love's a fucking weakness," he told her bluntly. "So's any kind of fucking emotion. It'll just arse everything up." It wasn't good to want or need.
Jaw tight, teeth clenched, he grumbled irritatedly under his breath as he poured another drink. Fucking bottle was going away far too fast; they were going to need more. And he was going to need a fucking Floo to get home that night. After a fight. He grunted. "Need a fucking fight," he muttered.