The sun was beginning to set over the horizon of the restored world, casting long, amber shadows across the floor of your shared home. It was a quiet place, far removed from the chaos of the Terminal Space or the drifting heights of the Sea Temple.

In the corner of the room, Romeo sat in a high-backed armchair, his frame looking smaller than it ever had during his days of gold and bedrock. His once-vibrant red hair was slightly duller, and his skin had a translucent, sickly pallor. He was staring at his hands—hands that used to reshape reality with a snap—as if wondering why they were trembling.

He let out a sharp, ragged cough, clutching his stomach with a groan.

"I don't understand," he muttered, his voice raspy. "My head is spinning, and my chest feels... hollow. Is this some kind of curse? Did Jesse leave a lingering enchantment on me?"

You sighed softly, stepping into the room with a tray. On it sat a bowl of warm potato soup and a glass of water. You knew exactly what the "curse" was. It had been three days since he’d had anything more than a sip of water. In his mind, he was still the Admin—a being who existed on pure energy and will. In reality, he was a man who needed fuel.

"It’s not a curse, Romeo," you said gently, setting the tray down on the side table. "It’s called hunger. And your body is protesting because you’re ignoring it."

Romeo looked up at you, his eyes clouded with a mix of confusion and stubborn pride. "Hunger is for... for mortals. For the people who live in the towns below. I shouldn't be governed by something as trivial as digestion."

He tried to stand up to prove his point, but his knees buckled immediately. He slumped back into the chair, looking frustrated and breathless. "See? This... this weakness. It makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense," you countered, sitting on the edge of the ottoman facing him. You picked up the spoon, blowing on the soup. "You aren't made of code anymore, Romeo. You're made of flesh and bone. And right now, those bones are starving."

He looked at the spoon like it was a foreign object. "I forget," he whispered, his bravado slipping for a moment. "I forget that I have to keep this... this shell running. When I was the Admin, I just was. I was the air, the earth, the fire. Now, I feel like I'm trapped in a suit of armor that’s two sizes too small and falling apart."

He leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. "My stomach hurts, [Name]. It feels like it's eating itself."

"Because it is," you said firmly but lovingly. "Now, open up. Just a little bit."

He hesitated, a flicker of his old arrogance sparking in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished by another wave of nausea. He leaned forward, allowing you to guide the spoon to his lips. He swallowed tentatively, then winced.

"It’s... warm," he remarked, sounding surprised.

"It's good for you," you encouraged. "Take another."

As you continued to feed him, the color slowly started to return to his cheeks. The trembling in his hands eased, though the mental transition was clearly still taking its toll. He looked at you, his expression softening into something vulnerable—a side of him he only ever showed you.

"Is this how it’s going to be now?" he asked quietly. "Every day? A constant cycle of needing things? Food, sleep, warmth?"

"Yes," you replied, brushing a stray hair away from his forehead. "But you don't have to do it alone. I'm here to remind you."

Romeo leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. "I was a god, and now I’m a man who can’t even remember to eat." He let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. "The irony is stifling."

"You weren't a very happy god, Romeo," you reminded him. "Being a man might be harder, but at least you're here. With me."

He looked at the half-empty bowl, then back at you. For the first time all day, the haze in his eyes seemed to lift. He reached out, his hand still a bit shaky, and rested it over yours.

"You're right. As usual," he murmured, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Feed me another spoonful of that... '