"I dunno, I think short hair is underappreciated," Junko says. He sets down the crate and smoothes the top of his own head with one huge hand.
"I know I don't appreciate it," Aerrow mutters, too low for him to hear.
"You know," Junko says, "we're not here because of your hair. We're here because we're your friends."
And it's true. That's totally true. Aerrow has five of the best friends in the world - friends who're practically family, friends who will fight for him, with him. And he'll fight for them. Against all enemies and dangers. No matter what.
And that has nothing to do with his hair. Zero, nada, zilch. Who he is and what he can do - what he will do - has nothing to do with his hair. He stands a little straighter.
"Thanks, Junko," Aerrow says. "I... needed to hear that, I guess."
"You're our Sky Knight, and we're your squadron," Junko says, loyally. "No matter how terrible your hair looks," he adds, then claps his hands over his mouth, aghast. "Um... not that it looks that bad?"
Aerrow pats the big guy on the shoulder. "It's okay." He refrains from saying, I know my hair sucks, but only just barely.
So much for building character.