"Ah — alright," Ford said, not because he wanted this book at all but rather because he was really very bad at saying no to things. He picked it up off the counter, a little awkwardly, and hugged it to his chest as though he was afraid that if he didn't hide the cover, someone else might see it and know what it was. Nevermind that passersby were unlikely to recognize the personal diary of someone who hadn't been particularly important to anyone other than his lover. And his wife, presumably.

Merlin, what was he going to do with this? He'd have to find somewhere in his room to hide it, because he could not leave it anywhere the girls could accidentally pick it up (or Noble, Merlin forbid; the conversation about the contortionists at the Sonata was about as far as he ever wanted to carry a conversation about sex with his brother). Keeping it in his room, though, meant that he would have to see it, and he couldn't imagine he could so much as glance at the cover now without feeling terribly embarrassed about it.

"— thank you," he said after a moment, though this book felt like more of a burden than a boon.