Until now, Sean's been perfectly content to keep things civil (or at least he can pretend as much), but then Brad goes and mentions that damn ring and some frayed, worn-out part of his psyche snaps, all that anger that had been reduced to a dull roar in the back of his head suddenly flaring up again something fierce. It's as instantaneous as flicking a switch, and then Sean's doing something that he's pretty sure he should have done a while ago.

"Bull," he spits, his voice louder than he intends it to be as he hauls back and snaps forward with a fist aimed squarely at the bastard's jaw, throwing his weight behind it. This isn't some arsehole pissing him off in a bar and he isn't playing around.