(Written due to my hatred for aspects of social media) They left the documents on the table, as Mitch's sobs became more violent. Ben stood, slowly, picking up the packets of paper, as an assistant entered the room silently. "I think we can shred these," Ben told her, quietly. "Pentatonix is... well, it's over." He watched the two figures clutching each other across the table. "We're done."