Things didn't get that much easier once the rescue. Obviously, it was nicer–safer–outside of the Galra prison. There wasn’t the looming threat of being used as a gladiator or as free manual labour or as spare parts. But conditions weren’t all that much nicer, not when you couldn’t start taking proper care of yourself right away, needing to slowly flesh things out so that your body could get used to it.

Team Voltron had infiltrated the cruiser you were on, looking for something or other, maybe just taking out the threat because it was there and they had the means. It was impossible to remember. It hadn’t exactly been your main focus. The swarms of people, the fire, the soldiers who suddenly didn't care about your and your block-mates escapes. The memory was already falling apart a few days later, the only crystal clear thing left was the moment you were ushered through the mouth of the Yellow Lion.

Safe now, in temporary arrangements with Team Voltron, staying where there was extra room until some place or planet or proper shelter was found to put you in. Things were cleaner, you weren’t in danger. But there hadn’t been nearly enough time or proper circumstances to actually connect with the team, not while you were so bust wallowing in the trauma of the whole thing–that much was unavoidable. With all the metal problems and the physical roadblocks, you hadn’t gotten a proper meal in you for days even though your body could probably take it at this point.

With a soft knock on the doorway, Hunk stepped into the lacklustre quarters. He seemed apprehensive, but very much like he wanted to be friendly.

“Hey there.”

He stepped closer, bowl in hand. The contents didn’t seem very appealing at all. The smell was fine, if bland, but the look of the texture and colour was off. He stood in front of you, slightly awkward but trying his best to make himself useful. He extended the bowl to you.

“It looks awful, but food goo isn’t that bad–not when I’ve prepared it.”

He paused briefly.

“You can eat. We have the resources."