Sometimes I just have to run with an idea.

I mentioned model trains earlier in the story, but then I read something in Hitsugaya's wiki page and knew I had to go a different route with his birthday.

It was written in the stars.

.

For all the innumerable grievances that Hitsugaya once held and—in some cases—still held about his vice-captain's attitude and behavior, one thing he'd never had any complaints about, nor trouble with, was her appearance; which was to say, he had never been pressed to reprimand her for looking unprofessional. Matsumoto always wore her uniform, she always wore her badge, and she always looked precisely the way she meant to.

There wasn't a single soldier in all the Gotei 13 more studious and precise about their appearance than she was, except maybe Yumichika Ayasegawa, or Captain Kuchiki. Hitsugaya couldn't think of a single time he'd ever seen his adjutant step into their office and felt the need to tell her to tidy up.

So, when Matsumoto stumbled into view one morning looking like she'd just lost a fight with a candymaker, with stains on her uniform and something reddish and syrupy all over her hands, her hair sticking out in every direction and covered with more . . . red . . . Hitsugaya was so stunned that he couldn't think of a thing to say for a long, long time. His brain took entirely too long to catch up to the information his eyes were delivering to him.

". . . Uh, Rangiku?"

"No talking," Matsumoto growled, holding out one hand and pointing at him menacingly. "Not a single word out of you. Sit there. Understand?" Hitsugaya nodded; he'd stood up when she entered, but he slumped back down into his seat. "Good boy."

A thousand questions ran through Hitsugaya's mind like little animals scrounging for food, but he stopped himself from asking any of them. He simply watched with something like horror as Matsumoto stomped over to her desk. She set a long, decorative box onto the space where she normally kept her papers, checked it and then checked it again, then stomped back out of the room. This she did without a single word of explanation.

It was another half-hour before Matsumoto returned, during which Hitsugaya did absolutely nothing. It was almost certainly pure superstition that kept him rooted to the spot, he knew this, but he found himself entirely unwilling to risk his adjutant's wrath by going against her word. All thoughts of rank and technicalities—or the fact that it was his birthday—found no traction in him.

When Matsumoto returned to the office, her hair had that particular sheen that came from being freshly washed. Her skin was flawless, and she'd replaced her uniform. She drew in a breath, let it out dramatically. She rolled her shoulders as she approached her captain's desk, and Hitsugaya wondered for a moment if she was going to flip it over his head.

"So," Matsumoto said, "I learned an unfortunate truth about the world today, and you're going to hear about it."

Hitsugaya's eyebrows went up. "Uh . . . ?"

Matsumoto jabbed a finger at him again. "Your grandmother is a demon."

Hitsugaya's mouth fell open. "What . . . does my Nana have to do with anything? Did you . . . oh." His face went pale. "Oh, no. You didn't go to her for advice, did you? You didn't ask her to teach you something, did you?"

Matsumoto's eyes held forbidden horrors.

"Oh, Rangiku. What did she do to you?"

Matsumoto's face softened. "In a way," she said, "I brought it on myself. I wanted it perfect, just the way you like it. She's very exacting, especially where her darling grandson is concerned." She stepped back to her own desk, picked up the decorative box, and stepped back over to Hitsugaya with it.

She waved it like a baton, then set it down in front of him.

Hitsugaya stared at the offering, unsure what to do.

Did he open it?

Did he dare?

"Go on, Toshiro," Matsumoto said, after a moment. "I didn't go through all this for you to not see what it was all for."

Hitsugaya pulled the gift over and opened it.

The decorative box was filled to the brim with syrup-simmered red beans dusted with sugar.

"This is . . . Amanatto," Hitsugaya murmured, almost too low to hear. He looked up. "This was my favorite snack . . . when I was little."

Matsumoto nodded. "I've heard," she said.

Hitsugaya blinked several times, feeling tears burn the backs of his eyes. "You . . . went to my grandmother . . . to ask her how to make this?"

"I did."

"Rangiku . . . you . . ."

Matsumoto waved a dismissive hand. "Hush," she said. "The look on your face is all the thanks I could ever want." She leaned over and kissed Hitsugaya's forehead. "Happy birthday, Captain."