Benedict was sick of the fame; the cameras, the autographs, the squealing and screaming. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved his job, the acting being a passion of his, but there were times when he wished he could whisk himself away. Into another world, preferably. Perhaps one where he could walk the streets without his hood pulled up or glasses shielding half of his face. One where people actually held a conversation with him that didn't involve his career-- just a chat about anything other than the fact that he was an actor and that was all he was portrayed as. This world seemed as if it was only a fantasy, a place he would never reach. It was only when he bumped into her-- well, she bumped into him-- that he realized this daydream world he had only thought of was right within his grasp. The only bad part was that he didn't realize how effortlessly it could be pulled away.