The Invisible Man

By: Sokai

Disclaimer: I, Sokai, do not claim ownership to the workings of W.I.T.C.H. -- I leave that honor up to Elisabetta Gnone. Nor do I own the song, "Invisible Man," by 98 Degrees. However, I can and DO claim to own this story and its inspired ideas FROM said series.

Note: This story (based on the cartoonverse, by the way) is the first I've written in all the fourteen years I've been writing that has a more-than-personal impact upon me. And this is mainly because while the roles are reserved (a guy pining for a girl who doesn't notice his existence), it is something that I have regrettably gone through, myself.

And while I originally bothered to write this as just something that came to me two weeks ago, after watching the "Happy Birthday, Will" episode of W.I.T.C.H. once more, it ended up evolving into something that I am sure everyone can relate to and hopefully will take comfort in knowing that you are not alone in it.

So, I dedicate this one shot/songfic to not only the one I loved but couldn't/wouldn't see it, but also to anyone who has ever been hopelessly in love and felt so alone and frustrated in the matter.

Enjoy.

This story was created/written in February 2006.

He lay on his back upon the cot, set up for him by the Lin family during his stay on Earth, in the storage basement of their restaurant, the Silver Dragon. He had just returned from yet another eventful evening battling the scum of Metamoor, alongside the Guardians of the Veil, at a large marble building referred to as "City Hall" (a name he could not quite understand, as there were no cities stationed within the halls of said building).

As exhausted as he was too, his mind was far too wired for much desired sleep.

And it was not because of the new revelation that the vile Prince Phobos was ostensibly searching for a young girl around the same age as the Guardians, either (as bedeviling as that was). It was because of another girl in particular . . . whose fourteenth birthday party he had been celebrating with the rest of her friends that day.

The young Rebel leader let out a restless sigh while effortlessly listening to the radio, his usual, stoically mature brown eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling with an increasingly soft nature as he did so.

The exuberant Hay Lin had let him borrow the medium sized, bright yellow music maker as a form of relaxing entertainment when he was left alone down there after closing time. And although it indeed usually soothed his nerves (especially a type of music called "jazz"), tonight it was only serving to escalate his fervently internal battle -- as he gradually realized that the music currently wafting into room and through his ears that was not at all like the tracks he was used to.

He suspected it was probably Blunk who'd changed the station on him while he was out, as he was keenly aware of how much the diminutive Passling loved to rummage through what little belongings he had (the foul stench emitting from each lately being a rather good indication).

As the brave warrior ran a strong, slightly calloused hand through his tousled short brown tresses, he allowed himself to tune into a song that sounded much like the kind of sappy, lovesick tunes that were often droned out by those the natural beauty, Cornelia, informed him were called "Boy Bands" (another thing of many, he'd noticed, that she was adamantly obsessed with):

You can hardly

wait to tell all your friends

How his kisses taste sweet like wine

And how he always

makes your heart skip a beat

Every time he walks by

It would figure that now the songs on the radio would suddenly decide to betray him in this hour by revealing what was secretly within his heart . . .

At this, he immediately sat up from his cot and groaned, wishing he could at last have relief of some kind from what's been bothering him lately (or, at least go back in time to change the night's events more to his liking).

He honestly did not much care to know if that Matt Olsen guy's "kisses taste sweet like wine" (whatever that meant), nor did he definitely want to know the kind of reaction his presence had upon the heart of the Guardians's shy, but brave red headed leader "every time he walks by" (even though he unfortunately had a pretty good idea).

However, what he was painfully aware of, was that whatever she was feeling for that raven haired individual, it was precisely what he himself was continually harboring for her and then some as each day progressed, truly wishing he did not.

Even though the world of Metamoor and that of Earth were immensely different in just about every imaginable aspect, the two were identical when it came to the broad scope of emotions both shared. So, therefore, the young Meridian native was not at all a stranger to the confusing, sometimes dreadful, although still very exhilarating sentiments that had been careening throughout his insides for the past several weeks.

He remembered how surprised he had been when he'd first began to realize his evolved feelings for the petite young gentlewoman, and how it had caught him completely off guard (something within his line of work as Rebel leader that did not, and could not happen very often).

The two did not exactly hit it off when they had first met, as he had initially believed her to be a mere, helpless "girlie girl" playing "hero" (and resented the fact that he had honestly needed her assistance in escaping one of the many Metamoorian dungeons he had managed to land himself in, while scouting the increasingly dilapidated Meridian city), while she had regarded him as an "egotistical jerk" for having done so.

Thankfully, however, while unfortunately they still were not the best of friends or even remotely close, the respect between them had grown significantly since then. It was just truly disheartening that that seemed to be the only amount of ardor that she held for him.

And if you're feeling down

He'll pick you up

He'll hold you close when

you're makin' love

He'll pick you up

He'll hold you close when

you're makin' love

He's everything

you've been dreaming of

Oh baby

The otherworldly alien felt his aptly toned body shiver upon hearing those words, despite the warmth steadily filtering into the room. Even though the phrase was apparently different on Earth than Metamoor in describing the act of joining as one between a male and female, he understood precisely what was being lyrically articulated at that moment, and quite frankly it made him sick to his stomach.

Not for what the act entailed, but because he had just then envisioned the honey eyed beauty doing so with the object of her affection -- which only succeeded in further fueling his disdain for the young so-called musician.

I wish you'd look at me that way

Your beautiful eyes

lookin' deep into mine

Telling me more than

any words could say

But you don't even know I'm alive

Baby to you all I am

Is the invisible man

Sadly, truer words had never been spoken -- or, in this case, sung, he mused with deep melancholy, as he begrudgingly dragged his body over to the radio to raise the volume and remained to brood and hover over it.

He marveled at how accurate this otherwise nauseating Boy Band was in regard to his feelings, because that was exactly how he felt whenever he was around the quiet, thoughtful girl-- especially tonight at her party.

Invisible.

Inconsequential.

Absolute vapor.

The otherworldly alien had racked his brain that entire week, trying desperately to figure out what kind of gift to give to her that would be worthy of her.

However, because none of the items both Hay Lin and Irma had directed his fleeting attention to (he still could not understand the joy and fascination teenagers -- the females, especially, he'd noticed -- had in their apparent ritual of fawning over brightly colored animal hide and vials of strong smelling water week after week) had succeeded in earning his approval during their birthday shopping outing together a few days before the party, he'd swiftly decided to craft a gift for her instead.

One that would capture all of the red head's beautiful, innumerable and unmatched qualities at their best.

Which was why he had decided to make a rather impressive (if he did say so, himself) wood carving rendition of her Guardian alter ego.

He was almost positive that when her beautiful, kind eyes first gazed upon the equally beautiful masterpiece, her heart would swoon as she began to feel all the more special than she was already in every sense of the word, and perhaps would even miraculouslyforget about Matt altogether and turn her attention onto him.

Regrettably, however, that had not at all been the case. If anything, he had been lucky to have received the tiny, barely audible "Thank you" she'd managed to bestow upon him, alongside the small smile that graced her creamy visage, before immediately veering her attention onto her other gifts and guests.

You probably spend

hours on the phone

Talkin' 'bout nothing at all

It doesn't matter

what the conversation

Just as long as he called

He was more than willing to bet anything that had it been Matt who had given her that gift, she would have been beaming, with her face readily matching her mesmerizing crimson locks and quite possibly all of this particular world's known vocabulary heatedly escaping from her lips in a nervous frenzy.

It was so ironic to the Rebel leader that he had easily held the adoring attention of practically every girl in attendance at the party (especially Cornelia's best friend, Elyon, if not Cornelia herself, whom he'd noticed was mysteriously trying to keep him all to herself whenever she possibly could) -- something he had not honestly minded, and in fact slightly encouraged in his own way, looking back on it -- and yet had to work at not only capturing but maintaining the raptness of the one he wanted the most.

Lost in a love so real

And so sincere

You wipe away each other's tears

Your face lights up

whenever he appears

And that it did, indeed, he could alas recall, once he and the other Guardians had returned from their duties and back to the ongoing, lively party they had hesitantly left into the hands of Irma's parents.

He and Cornelia had gone ahead with the others, leaving the birthday girl behind, but when he'd turned his head around to call to her, he remembered watching her face instantly light up the very moment she had seen Matt appear to help her carry the rest of the pizzas they had all bought before returning.

I see you all the time baby

The way you look at him

I wish it was me sweetheart

Boy I wish it was me

But I guess I'll never be . . .

Letting out a tired sigh, the unmistakably heartbroken young man wearily traveled back to his cot and lay back down, covering his face with his hands as be began to will himself to fall asleep so that he could momentarily escape his pain.

Much like how the heartfelt song was at last ending, he sadly reasoned so too must his mere fantasy of having the red head's love.

For it was becoming painfully clear that, no matter the effort he would put into trying to impress her and one day win her unrelenting affection Matt had without even trying, or perhaps deserving it, it would never matter.

Because to her, all he truly was was the invisible man . . .

-- End

(A.N. And there you have it. My first songfic, which I honestly don't like doing, but as I'd said, this song matched the mood. It's not my best work, in MY opinion, but then again, it was just something that came to mind, as I'd also said. Anyhow, I'm quite aware that it'd sort of be pretty far fetched for Caleb to be reacting this way, but oh well. My story. LoL

Oh, and before you leave me reviews, asking why I didn't just come out and SAY Caleb's name OR Will's when writing this, I did so not only to keep it "mysterious," but "open" so that anyone reading this truly COULD relate to what he's going through –- you know, by not attaching a solid name to it even though you know it's him, etc.

I'd be interested to see a sequel pop up on here by someone else, taking either Will's or Cornelia's P.O.V. of that night. If someone does do so –- as I'M not going to LoL – let me know! I'd love to read it. )