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"I ain't high, I'm observant," Bradley said earnestly, his brown eyes huge, liquid, and entirely unshielded. The guarded, slow-burning Rooster was completely gone; in his place was a giant, filterless golden retriever of a man who had apparently decided Jake Seresin was the center of the universe. "Look at your mouth. You got that little pouty thing going on. You rationed, sugar? You saving all that sugar for me?"
(or: The one where Bradley gets put on heavy sedatives for a routine shoulder procedure, completely loses his filter, and spends two hours aggressively worshipping Jake in front of an exhausted Navy flight surgeon.)