(Reader's POV)

France moaned despairingly, looking at his hair in the mirror as he ran his long, pale fingers through the wavy, golden locks. I stood behind him, honestly feeling very sorry for him.

"I'm sorry, France. But it has to be done."

France didn't answer, unless you count a dragged-out whine to be an answer. I gently took his hand, and pulled him towards the front door. It didn't surprise me when he started dragging his feet on the floor, digging his heels in. Thankfully, he didn't have enough traction, and I managed to get him into the passenger seat of the car.

The nation looked down at his folded hands, not speaking for the entire trip to the barber shop. I kept trying to start a conversation with him, to help him relax, but nothing came to mind. I felt bad for him; he must have had that hair style for hundred, if not thousands, of years. And now, just because of some stupid head lice, it all had to be shaved off.

When we arrived at the barber shop, it took a lot of convincing for France to step out of the car. Patting his back soothingly, we went through the door, the bell above jingling, announcing our arrival. A hairdresser poked his head out from behind a wall. "Hello! What can I do for you?"

France didn't look like he was in any condition to speak, so I decided to help him out. "My friend here had contracted a bad case of head lice. The only way we can get rid of it is to just get rid of the hair." I noticed France winced a little at that.

The hairdresser had the grace to look apologetic. "Oh, dear, I am very sorry. I will try to make it quick."

I turned to France. "Alright, Francis," I whispered, using his human name since we were in public, "it's best to just get this over with. Like ripping a bandaid off quickly, right?" With a sullen nod, France trudged over to the hairdresser's chair and waited for the executioner's death strike.

As the hairdresser began his work, I started to think about ways to cheer France up, or at least make this a little less horrible. Even if you didn't take care of your hair as well as France did, going around with a bald head is not fun, not to mention humiliating. England is going to die when he sees this, he'll laugh so hard.

Then, an idea occurred to me.

(Normal POV)

"Where is France, he should have been here ten minutes ago!" Germany's face was turning purple; everyone in the meeting room looked around awkwardly, not knowing how to respond.

England raised his hand. "The frog just sent me a text message; he and (Name) are coming up the stairs right now."

Hmm-ing in irritation, Germany turned towards the door, ready to chew out France for being late. Ah, there, the door was opening. He opened his mouth, ready to yell, when his tongue failed him. His jaw hung open limply, as did everyone else's, possibly England's most of all.

Franc stood there, in his trademark clothing, looking completely normal. Except for his hair. Which was completely gone.

…

…

France narrowed his eyes at England. "Go a'ead and laugh, Angleterre. I know you want to."

And England did just that. He doubled over in his seat, tears rolling down his face, as he struggled for breath, but failed every time he glanced upwards at his worst enemy's bare head.

America, for once in his life, seemed to be at a complete loss for words. He was probably in too much shock to either speak or laugh.

However, when (Name) walked in, England's breath caught in his throat, threatening to choke him.

Her head was completely bald, too.

France smiled at (Name), who grinned back, before they took their seats. England's jaw worked, incomprehensible stutters making their way out into the air, only to wither and die the moment they reached anyone's ears.

France smiled again as he sat down. (Name) sat next to him. Both looked completely relaxed, even though the entire world (literally) was gawking at them.