He watched. He didn't touch. Or smell. Or, God forbid, taste. Dave Karofsky watched. Ever since the kiss in the locker room, he watched, from a distance. And he watched Kurt Hummel.
He would never admit it to his face, but Dave loved Kurt Hummel. The tough, meaty hockey player loved the weak, scrawny soprano. There's a plot for a musical if he ever saw one. But nothing would come of it.
Because he watched.
He would dream about him at night and wake up sticky and sweaty, tangled in his sheets. But he wouldn't make a move. He didn't fear the rejection that would come with asking the boy out, he feared the acceptance. He feared his request being accepted and then being heartbroken. Or breaking Kurt's heart.
So he watched. And he dreamt. And he thought of what could have been if he wasn't such a bully.
'A chubby boy who sweats too much and is gonna be bald by the time he's thirty.'
Maybe there was no logic in his fear of acceptance. Kurt would never say 'Yes' to him. He couldn't offer Kurt anything.
Except to watch.