Author's Notes: Thinking about turning this into a full fledge story. This is just the rough idea of the thing so if/when I do it as a full story this will probably change a bit. As for Hojo as the agent… I couldn't think of anyone nearly as slimy as Hojo that could fit the role of a Hollywood agent.

Theme: Shapes

Art

He wasn't quite sure when he'd started to notice it, but he'd noticed it none the less. In fact, he was pretty sure his agent had been trying to hide it for a while now. And, all things considered, the man hadn't been doing too bad of a job of it. That was what Hojo was for after all, keeping all worries away from the young star. So he could focus on his 'career'. Some career it was. He read the papers, he knew what was going on. Lines of clothes sold with his name that he'd never known anything about, DVDs he watched suddenly sold out at all stores. Honestly, the 'fans' thought too much of him. He was just a normal guy, right? Or maybe he was, years ago.

Slowly the limo pulled to a stop in front of one of the biggest and hottest clubs in New York. Another damn party. The invitations didn't stop coming of course. He wished they would. Other people had to grease palms to get into the parties he got into, and for free at that. Everything he could ever want served up on a silver platter. Sickening really. The connections and the fake friendships and smiles. All for the public. All for a sad little poster-boy who was starting to regret it all.

Outside he could hear the screaming and shouting fans. Hell, he could practically hear the girls dropping like flies at the prospect of seeing him in the flesh. Wonderful. Was he really nothing but a walking wet dream to them? Did they even begin to realize that he was a person, not just some celebrity? He had a life, hobbies and passions he couldn't enjoy anymore because of the press and obsessive fans. Women wanted to marry him. Men wanted to be him. Girls tried to make their boyfriends just like one of his characters and those boys let them while hating him the whole time. This wasn't what he wanted.

"I… don't want to do this," he finally said, turning his glance from the dark tinted windows of the limo. If he looked out there, if he let them be more than just vague blurs and blobs he was going to be sick. Why couldn't they let him be normal? Why must everything he did outside of his own home, inside it even, be news worthy to them? Was he no better than some show animal on parade at a zoo?

"Come on Reeve, isn't this what you always dreamed of? Fame, fortune, glamour. This is the life kid, don't back out on it now. Your public awaits!" Hojo insisted, smiling that greedy smile at the young star.

"Is it worth it though? Everywhere I go they are there Hojo. No where I can go to escape. No one I know who doesn't see me as an actor before they see me as me…"

"That doesn't matter!" Hojo insisted, shifting his dark tie as he looked over a PDA that Reeve swore the man was never without. "Just go in there and turn on the charm. You are an artist, an actor. Just use those wonderful skills of yours. Smile, wave, sign some autographs, then go inside and behave yourself, but look like you're having fun. You're here for the party after all. You are their hero Reeve, use that."

Reeve looked out through the tinted window, staring at his reflection as it seemed to blend and merge with the blurs and blobs. The blurs and blobs that were looking more and more human every moment. Sickness would have to wait. He knew that. The door was being opened and he was smiling and waving as he got out. Sometimes though… he just wished he could disappear from their hearts and minds. Maybe it would be better to be a zero, huddled in the crowd looking for a glimpse of some famous actor instead of being the hero that was the actor.

He heard them shout and scream. Cameras flashed and girls swooned when he'd smile at them. Another day, another gig acting like someone that he wasn't. This one didn't pay though. In fact, this one took a price from him instead. The price of his humanity. Everyday he was less human to them, and more a model, a damned celebrity and nothing more. Maybe that was why he felt so empty inside. Worst thing was that he would probably never know. He could disappear into nothingness and they would all still remember faintly some celebrity. He'd be on those shows asking 'where are they now?' and the invasions would never stop. Never stop. And each one stole away another piece of humanity. Each one left him emptier. One day it would consume him. And maybe one day he would look forward to that blissful end.