"Uh huh." Jeff smiles (is this the first time he's smiled since waking up?), a little light coming back to his eyes as he moves to start peeling off his shirt, followed by the pants. "I'd rather wear your words than Tommy Bahama."

This is familiar. This is safe. Comforting. When his body doesn't feel like it's his anymore (just a thing, a meat puppet, an object to take and use and discard--) at least he can hand the reins over to Bash.

He even remembers to fold his clothes neatly, smiling, singing along to Bash's humming. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."