It wasn't that Hitsugaya particularly minded having Matsumoto as his vice-captain. Yes, she tended to sleep more than the average housecat. Yes, she could never be counted on to keep up with the paperwork (or start the paperwork, or look at the paperwork, or remember that there was paperwork there at all). But whenever Hitsugaya found himself grinding his teeth in frustration, he simply had to look around at the other divisions, and his instant reaction was always "Oh god, at least she isn't Kira."

The only thing Hitsugaya really couldn't stand was that every two weeks she would run out of food at home and move into his place, uninvited. He'd open the door, fully aware of who was lurking behind, and there she'd be, all sunny smiles with a bottle of sake hanging from her pinky.

And he would glare and say, sternly, "Matsumoto. Learn to go grocery shopping." And she would smile and pat him on the head and say, "But taichou, if I did that, you'd get lonely!"

And, alright, it wasn't so bad. Not really. Not if he was being honest with himself. Even when she tried to cook for him, even when she ate all his peanut butter straight out of the container, with her fingers, and then whined for the rest of the night about how sticky her breasts were and "Oh, taichou! Feel how sticky that is! Right there!" Really, even the nights when she accidentally dropped a piece food down her kimono and spent hours with her hand down her front, searching for it, were bearable.

No, the trouble was the late mornings when she'd wake up, hung over, and stalk groggily into the kitchen for some coffee – past Hitsugaya, eating cereal at the kitchen table and trying to finish the day before's paperwork. Because then he would have to shut his eyes very tightly, count backwards from ten, and rub his forehead before snapping, "Mastumoto, please go and put some clothes on," and no one should have to start their day like that.