*shifts his gaze to your table again, there-and-back very quickly (while Tristan's attention is on their waiter), growing angrier every second you sit there (why are you here? and do you even see him sitting there?)*
*clears his throat and addresses the waiter as smoothly as if he isn't seeing you in person for the first time since they broke up (I wasn't supposed to have to look at you except in a conference room)* No, thanks, can we just get the check, please?
*is almost irrepressibly anxious as he waits for the bill to arrive, which he promptly hands his credit card over to pay* *notes that you (obviously) seem no more ready to leave than you did a moment ago, and quite suddenly his stomach is lurching with a wave of nausea (go away)*
*quietly, to Tristan* Sorry. Will you excuse me for just a minute? I'm feeling a little... *shoves his chair back from the table and quick-steps to the men's room, instantly calming there for not having to look at you (but he can't very well stay here until you've finished your dinner, can he?)*