Cayde examines his reflection, tipping his head this way and that to compare. It's more than he expected a stranger could do for him on short supply and shorter notice. It already makes a huge difference that looking at things doesn't cause parts of his face to bind up.

"Alright, good enough," he says when he sets the mirror aside, but he can't quite manage to be breezy about it. Having this much back now? It means something. He's honestly touched. His face is his face again.

He makes a shooing motion as Peter goes, and then he suits back up. His legs feel so much better, he bends them and stretches them a little to make sure the joints are smooth.

"You can turn back around without being blinded," he says, tone jaunty and sarcastic, but when he does:

"...Thanks, Peter."

That's sincere. That's more sincere than Cayde ever likes to be, but it's what's called for here.