His eyes were not blue. Nor was his hair an acceptable shade of blond, or his height at all very stately. Un-athletic, he refrained from participation in any popular sports, and therefore did not meet the criteria necessary for induction into the so-called "Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love Hottie Hall of Fame." Of course, he never really noticed that it existed, therefore it became no real concern of his.

He'd never won a fight, but then he'd never needed to actually actively participate in one. Other people may have greeted him if ever they passed him by, and he replied in the same manner towards them, but no one ever asked what paperback was in his back pocket that day. And whether the protagonist offed the antagonist? That was no real concern of theirs. He, in turn, offered up no summary of the excitement therein, allowing himself to simply read his literature in peace.

He was never caught when he snuck out of school for a coffee (and perhaps an everything bagel with cream cheese) at Dunkin Donuts. Teachers rarely noticed when he was in class, so they never knew that they never knew he wasn't in his seat, located a fair distance from the center front of the room. The school attendance system was flawed, after all, and it never took too much effort for him to get around it. It was his mind he used; his grin could never cause him get away with murder. Though he never had the need.

He never yelled or raised his voice – just smiled at any offending person as if he knew something they'd never become completely aware of. If they told him he was introverted he'd say, "That's all right." If they told him he was a stuck up, arrogant, pompous, good-for-nothing, poor excuse for a human being, he'd say, "Could be worse. I could sell insurance."

He never let himself take offense to anything; that way there was no reason to get riled up with those adrenal glands pumping out chemicals at maximum capacity then dissipating before they could be put to a more productive use.

In his imperfection… He was perfect.