Peeta's eyes open but he keeps them downcast when he hears her speak. The last thing he wants to do is rehash the thousandth apology or detail the latest terrible dream, not much more than a montage of the torture he put Katniss through and the disgusting things he'd said to and about Prim. It makes him sick to his stomach just thinking about, let alone attempting to talk about.
"Thank you," he mutters, taking another sip of his tea and finding it much closer to a temperature he can actually handle. His eyes shift up to look at her in the dark a moment later.
Peeta, truthfully, is still getting used to the idea that people care about him. That Katniss actually loves him even though she doesn't need to pretend to in order to survive anymore. That Cindy treats him the way maybe a real mother should. The only mother he'd ever known had beaten and berated him. It's difficult to wrap his head around the way Cindy talks to him sometimes.
A soft sigh escapes him. "I wish you could, too," he confesses quietly, taking another sip. "But it is what it is, I guess."