Color. It seems so basic. So primary or secondary? And yet, it's one of the first things people point out to young children, telling them in wonder that strawberries are red and fire is orange, water is blue, the sun is yellow - and no don't look into it!

And rather quickly, color becomes a secondary sensation. Something so normal, so assumed, something there and important but unnoticed like the air filtering its way through your nose, into your lungs, into you blood and to your brain as it deciphers "Green. Grass. Fertile. Growing. Fresh. Green."

Lance had never seen color. It never mattered much to him. There was value, still, and the real value is that he could hear, see, smell, breathe, taste, feel - he was still alive. Still human. Still loved and capable of loving. There was nothing abnormal in how he lives. Sure, sometimes the board could be hard to read, certain images made less sense. It was nothing but it did affect him. But it was normal. Far worse would be if he had seen color and then could suddenly never see it.

Far worse came in the form of Voltron.

Color was never that important to Lance. He was assigned blue and thought little of the title as being a visible color and more of a word, an honor, a value he gets to uphold.

Those values all changed when they formed Voltron for the first time.

Because as odd as it is to combine five people into one, brains melding, thoughts collecting and hearts racing in five similarly fast, rushing speeds… what struck Lance was the color. Through his teammates eyes he saw it for the first time.

The shock of it all kept him silent, the fear of failing - of dying in their first battle- was enough to keep his mind from imploding as his senses felt like they were exploding with the sudden saturation in his sight.

And when the robeast exploded, Lance stared at the vivid violence an awed breath leaving him gasping as grey flickered back and forth before planting itself firmly at the default he never knew to hate.

And in the sudden silence he cried.