[There's a lot more going on than merely the hurt that Minimus broadcasts all too easily in to the Darkling's face, the bitter twist to his mouth. A sour look before he even starts to speak, the words less important than all the ones the other man isn't saying and the Darkling pockets the ring before holding his hands out, palms up.]

I made a fool of myself. [The stares and the hushed whispers, all the salacious gossip about what he might have done to this man to deserve such a harsh rejection.] You were-- a familiar face in the crowd.

This would have been much easier had I been drunk.

[This man could have made things worse; he could have accepted. Tilting his head, the Darkling tries for a reassuring smile.]