Jeff nods, because maybe trying to move was a little overambitious, considering. When the guy returns with a washcloth, he accepts it with a grateful, if wordless, murmur.

He immediately presses it to his cheek, then just kind of leans into his own touch, and it's hard to say if he's enjoying the sensation, or just needs the help keeping his head up.

"Had a bit of a..." Year? Something like that. But with the way he trails off instead of finishing the thought, it sounds more like he's just repeating the man like a slurring parrot. "Jeff."

He tries to smile and gives a weak little wave with his free hand.