It's less the fact that Tsukki's got a poetry book and more that a public high school like Karasuno is assigning stuff like this to its first years. Maybe he's in the advanced class? Bokuto, by contrast, has coasted by the last three years on make-up exams (and occasional backbreaking cram sessions under Akaashi), so he can't even imagine the fuss of reading for pleasure. Pleasure, for him, comes in two forms: on the court and between his legs. Oh, and eating meat, that was usually pretty nice.

But, being the stubborn overgrown child that he is, Bokuto sees the shifty glances Tsukishima is making and decides he ought to take one little peek into this book, before turning it over to him. Drawing it closer to his chest, out of reach, Bokuto flips it open to the page Tsukishima had last bookmarked. He starts reading aloud, another side benefit of not needing an awful lot of light to see.

"'Bit the flesh of his palm'... 'a roiling heat in his chest'... 'fruit of his loins'-- what the hell're they makin' you read over there in the sticks, Tsukki?" Bokuto asks, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest. So this is the kind of thing the uptight first year likes to read when he's alone. Oh ho ho...