He leans back on his palms, watching Matt, taking in the way he moves with a sort of lazy observation. It's hard to say how much he notices, in the moment, will actually stick around in his head. It isn't that he's actively thoughtless, per se, so much as passively thoughtful, which he likes to see as two very distinct qualities.

Still, on some subconscious level, he knows he doesn't want to make the guy flutter away. So: no sudden moves-- or the conversational equivalent of a sudden move, anyway.

When Matt laughs, Jeff beams, sunny and bright, if a bit dimmed at the edges.

"'This' is good." He shrugs, head tilting a little as he takes in the whole of Matt. It's like he could be all angles, but he doesn't come across as pointy. There's a softness to him, like Jeff could drape all over him and not worry about getting his eye put out.

(If anyone could hear Jeff's internal processes, it would probably very quickly become apparent that he's not the one writing much of the lyrics in his music. Not exactly a poet here.)

Anyway. It's cute. He's cute. "I'm not disappointed you don't sound like London." He takes another gulp of water and sets the glass to the side.

"Jeff. Hi." He cranes his neck, practically contorts himself further down on to the stage to try to get a peek at the book in Matt's hand. "What're you reading?"