What people register isn't the thoughts. It's the half-second before you answer, whether your reply has an edge filed into it, whether you asked a second question after the first one.
Households pick this up before the person does. A teenager stops doing the small brace they do when a parent comes through the door. It goes uncommented on. There isn't a name for what changed.
Worth knowing on the days it feels pointless and entirely private. It isn't private for long. It leaks out at the edges, in the smallest available units — how you say hello to somebody at a counter.