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They make an odd couple, them. Or they would, if they were a couple. Kensei committed himself to a life of celibacy the moment Urahara hinted their condition was heritable. He couldn’t save Mashiro, but he can make sure he never inflicts Hollowfication on a child. Mashiro goes along with it. It’s easier to point to the circle-shaped scar above her heart than to be a woman who doesn’t want kids, even today.
So they’re not a couple. They live together, sleep together–”get your mind out of the gutter,” Mashiro shrills at Ichigo, because he may be Visored but he’s 100 years removed and doesn’t understand that on bad nights, you need another warmth in bed to remind you you didn’t lose everyone. Kensei cooks, Mashiro cleans, and regardless of where home base is, they both tend a garden. You’d think the herbs are Kensei’s and the flowers Mashiro’s, but it’s the other way around. She likes to stand in the dirt, breathing in their perfume, and feel useful. He likes to know that he can be gentle.
(The nametags on the pots are hers, though. Mashiro gets attached.)
If you ask Kensei, he’ll tell you Mashiro’s an obligation. It’s halfway true. The Visoreds slay Hollows and send Pluses on. Those are Shinigami duties; he’s alone in having someone from his division to fulfill the captain portion as well. The other half is love. It’s not as simple as that, or maybe it is. Kensei-as-captain surrounded himself with subordinates he cared for and who cared for him, and if he was wrong about Tousen, he could not have been more right about Mashiro. They’ve fought and bled and cried for one another. No amount of bickering washes that away.
If you ask Mashiro, she’ll tell you they love each other. It’s as simple as that. (She particularly loves the shade of red Kensei’s face turns at that line.) And it’s more than halfway true. 100%. It’s just that most people don’t incorporate quite as much saving the other from themselves into their definition of love. Most people haven’t lived that sort of life. Most people don’t sit forehead-to-forehead with their loved ones until their legs go numb, cradling hands that can break stone and begging them to stay, pleading for them to ignore the red rage that sparks from their tongue and leave the dagger that answers the question of where a split soul goes.
They are too different to be a couple, them. They literally don’t see eye-to-eye, with a foot of height between them. Mashiro likes spontaneity and seeing the world, while Kensei craves stability and a home. Circumstance makes compromise possible, even necessary, but it’s tough when one person is throwing their life into a bag and the other lives only in the space from the top of their head to the soles of their feet. Mashiro will try anything once, no matter how crazy, while Kensei sticks to what works. She takes everything too lightly and he too seriously.
They meet in the middle. That’s the nature of things, when it’s you against yourself. You’re only half a person, fighting an endless battle against half of something that never was a person. But with another half a person on your side… sometimes, it’s enough. They make it enough.