Word Count: 300.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

To Shikamaru, Hinata was the epitome of the perfect woman.

She wasn't too pretty, nor too ugly; she fit comfortably in-between. Hinata could fit in anywhere with her pale, delicate skin, thick black hair and serene lavender eyes. She would never be outstandingly beautiful, but she had a tranquility that no beauty could ever hope to match.

Hinata was very quiet and attentive. She was always ready to listen and silently sympathize, no matter how petty the speaker's issue was, and she always listened no matter what was going on in her life, no matter how stressed she herself was. That was truly admirable.

She was astoundingly polite. True, Hinata was the heiress to the most prestigious clan in Konohagakure, and as such would have an extensive knowledge of protocol, but in a day and age when young people were allowing their manners to slip more and more, Hinata was unfailingly courteous on a scale that could only be challenged by Rock Lee.

And best of all (in Shikamaru's eyes), she never nagged anyone.

Yet, to the population of Konoha, Hinata went entirely ignored. People seemed to forget she existed, or if they remembered, they didn't value her as a woman.

Shikamaru supposed it had a lot to do with the girls Hinata hung out with. Next to Ino's model looks and generous endowments, Sakura's rose-colored hair and fiery temper, and Tenten's bright, open personality, shy, modest Hinata became a wallflower, unnoticed and undervalued. She didn't have anything in her favor that made her stand out.

Shikamaru thought they were all fools. They'd never find a woman like her; Hinata was a one in a million find.

Hinata, pale, delicate and silent, was the perfect woman.

Well, their loss was his gain.

"Hinata-san. Do you have plans for this evening?"