Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

He took her for granted.

No, Itachi amended, perhaps that was too harsh. Rather, his little brother's overly loud best friend was just too dense. Too oblivious. Too immature. Too. Too. Too. Itachi could go on and on about the extremes in Naruto's personality, but really it all boiled down to the simple fact that the boy was simply just energetic. He was always caught by someone or something else, never bothering to spare a glance at the blossoming woman that always trailed a step behind. With a torch that wasn't so secret after so many years.

She supported him in the comfort of shadows as a woman raised in a clan as traditional as the Hyuga should. To step closer, was to risk impropriety. To speak louder, was to be labelled crass. Impeccable manners were a trademark of older clans. Even the Nara and Aburame, and to some extent, the Inuzuka all behaved the same depending on the clan's situation. It just so happened that the Hyuuga carried those cold manners with them in their day to day lives.

And Hyuga Hinata, while not the strongest shinobi, was without a doubt, the ideal wife. She made up for her lack of strength in brains, beauty, and grace. Her patience and kindness were of the infinite sort which people took advantage of. It prompted outside protection from her clan and those around her, but they always failed to notice how she was far more than she let on. With age, Hinata's personality had grown firm enough to confidently cease what she didn't find likable, and if someone were to take advantage of her generous nature, it was scarcely ever done without her knowledge—and her quiet acquiescence.

She was a force to be reckoned with. Pure, despite the demands of their livelihood. With the appearance of naivete, she gathered many to her side. An epitome of innocence and virtue. She was elegance incarnate. As a woman, she was more than any man could ask for. As a wife, she belonged strictly on the arms of feudal lords and future clan heads. Any less would be an insult not only to her standing as heiress, but to her as a person.

Her beauty was an added perk.

But to Naruto, she was simply Team Eight's Hyuga Hinata. Neji's cousin. Second, third, maybe even fourth best. She was his friend. Barely.

But Itachi knew that if given a few years, the blond that had overlooked her throughout their childhood would wise up, see that there was no romantic love buried in his pink-haired companion's heart for him, no companionship in the lonely Hokage's seat he strived for, no warm meal or supportive wife after a long day to love him unconditionally, and then he would turn around to finally see her standing there. Smiling. Arms open. Accepting him, despite how much he had dragged his feet on his way to reach her.

Unfortunately for him, Itachi, having grown up in a traditionalist household himself and naturally talented at spotting both potential and worth, had beaten him to it. He'd taken a shortcut, swooping in before the blond could even consider the possibility of a relationship. Itachi stole the prize perfectly content to wait at the end of the boy's road with no remorse. And he'd do it again.

Really, he should've thanked the blond for his temperament. For his attention that tunneled only into what he could see with his eyes. For—if it didn't sound arrogant—his slow development. Because if not for that, he wouldn't be waking up every single morning to the sight of a sleeping goddess dwarfed in his shirt, blankets pushed to her waist, where they tangled around her exposed legs. Her hair fanned out behind her in an arc that contrasted sharply against the brighter sheets.

Light was beginning to seep through their bedroom window, and Itachi regarded it for a moment. He always woke just minutes before the sun rose. Even when he was utterly exhausted, his eyes would at least open long enough to see dawn, before he fell back asleep.

Not today, however.

Today, he was his usual self. As he watched his wife sleep. He traced the delicate slope of her jaw with his eyes, before grabbing a long lock of hair and pressing it reverently to his lips.

Since he was young, Itachi had noticed everything and he took very little of it for granted. He had once attributed it to another quirk of early intelligence, but then realized that it was nothing more than maturity and his exposure to warfare in his youth. Experiences were what made a person after all.

Itachi settled back, so that he was facing her. He made a point to ignore the curve of her body under his plain shirt. Soft and supple. Innocence and sin all boiled into one. His clan's crest was emblazoned proudly on the back, further marking her as his. Instead, he paid special attention to the way her nose wrinkled ever so slightly when he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

Adorable.

She was everything he wasn't. Embodied all the good inside of him that he never had the opportunity to outwardly express.

Hinata was made for him.

A/N: This was a product of ten minutes of boredom on my cell. Excuse any typos. Depending on the feedback I receive, I may turn this into a dump of Itahina shorts in the future.

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