It had been months since the world shut down. No bustling airports, no stakeouts in crowded cafes, no shadowy figures to tail through foreign streets. The Hardy Boys were officially out of cases, and it was starting to wear on them.

Joe Hardy paced the small living room of their shared apartment, tossing a tennis ball against the wall. "Frank, you're going to lose your mind if you keep staring at that laptop."

Frank didn't look up from the screen. "It's research."

"Research on what? The Netflix library? Dude, there's nothing to solve right now. Accept it."

Frank sighed, finally dragging his eyes away from the laptop. Joe wasn't wrong. Without cases, their days had become an endless loop of puzzles, old case files, and arguments over who used the last of the coffee creamer. Even Frank had to admit it was getting dull.

Joe caught the tennis ball and grinned. "You know what we should do?"

"If this is about trying to turn the coffee table into a ping pong net again, the answer is no."

"Nope. Better. I should cut your hair."

Frank blinked. "What?"

Joe gestured dramatically toward Frank's head. "It's getting ridiculous, man. You're halfway to looking like a hermit. Let me fix it."

"We could just wait until the barbershops reopen."

"That could be months from now! Besides, how hard can it be?"

Frank raised an eyebrow. "You want to put scissors near my head. You, the guy who couldn't cut out a snowflake in second grade without it looking like a crime scene."

"First of all, rude," Joe said, crossing his arms. "Second, I've grown since then. I've watched at least three YouTube tutorials. Trust me."

Against his better judgment, Frank relented. Ten minutes later, he sat in a chair in their kitchen, a towel draped over his shoulders, and Joe standing behind him with a pair of scissors and a determined expression.

"Alright, let's do this," Joe said, snapping the scissors for emphasis.

The first few snips were cautious, almost promising. But as Joe worked, he began to mutter under his breath.

"Huh. That's… uneven. Okay, no problem, I'll just…"

Snip.

"Hmm. Weird angle there. Let me fix that."

Snip. Snip.

Frank frowned. "Why do I feel like you're making it worse?"

Joe leaned back to examine his work. "Worse? No, no, it's… well, okay, maybe a little. But I can fix it."

By the time Joe admitted defeat, Frank's hair looked like it had been attacked by a lawn mower with a grudge.

"Joe."

"Okay, so it's not… ideal," Joe admitted, holding up a mirror. Frank's expression hardened as he took in the patchy mess on his head.

"Not ideal?" Frank repeated slowly.

Joe grinned sheepishly. "I've got a solution."

"What solution?"

"We shave it. All of it."

"Absolutely not."

"Frank, look at it! It's unsalvageable. Trust me, you'll rock the bald look. Distinguished, even."

Frank glared. Joe waved the clippers he'd mysteriously produced from a drawer.

"Better bald than… whatever that is," Joe argued.

With a heavy sigh, Frank nodded. "Fine. But if this goes wrong, I'm cutting your hair next."

Joe chuckled. "Deal."

Twenty minutes later, Frank stared at his reflection in the mirror, his scalp gleaming under the kitchen light.

"You look like an action star," Joe said, clearly pleased with himself.

"I look like a cue ball."

Joe slung an arm around Frank's shoulders. "A very tough cue ball. Besides, it'll grow back. Eventually."

Frank shook his head but couldn't help a small smile. "Next time, we're waiting for the professionals."

"Fair. But you have to admit, quarantine is way less boring now."

"That's one way to put it," Frank said, chuckling. Maybe they weren't solving mysteries, but at least life with Joe was never dull.