Robert was sick with loneliness and cocaine. He was supposed to be drugged up, high powered, euphoric, whatever, but he was really just aware of his system being pumped full of exogenous substance. He couldn't stop looking around the room, convinced he could see things in the corners. He wished he'd just stayed sober this night; he just had wanted to feel less alone, and getting high hadn't helped at all. All it had done was make Robert feel the absence of the man he was missing even more. He was alone now on this tour, stranded away from home, and now pulled away from the person he relied on most, especially on tour.
Simon was Robert's best friend. He hated to think little cliches like that, but Simon had been his best friend since he was a kid, and Robert had stupidly took it for granted that Simon always would be. Robert desperately wished his eyes would get heavy and that he would fall asleep, but instead he lay awake perpetually from the cocaine, staring at the ceiling, wishing he had the balls to cry.
He could shut his eyes, but he couldn't fall asleep. Robert was stuck reliving memories. He was stuck thinking of all the times he'd spent with Simon; from stupid bar trips, to rainy days inside, to days in the studio, to blow out fights that ended in a tight hug and a teary apology, to shy touching in the night that was never spoken of the next day, to smiling at eachother in the hallway.