Summary: During the 2004 recording sessions, Simon attempts to re-establish a connection with Robert.
Disclaimer: I do not own or know the members of The Cure. Any events described here are entirely fictional and I make no profit from writing this. This definitely didn't happen at any time around 2003 or 2004. Any song lyrics included are © the respective copyright holders.
I'm not even remotely sure what time it is by the time I stop playing and look up from my bass, but I have a feeling that it's some ridiculous time of night and I can't help but think I should probably be asleep right now - the aching in my eyes and my arms doesn't lie. We've been playing the same song over and over almost non-stop for god knows how long, just so it's up to Ross's standards, and I think I've just about had enough of it. I've persevered for long enough now, but it's gotten to the point where I've started to realise just how much he irritates me as a producer - though right now I'm thankful that this session's finally come to an end for the day.
"Okay, guys, that was great," says Ross Robinson through the crackling PA, "Robert, could you come up to the sound booth for a sec? Everyone else go home, see you tomorrow."
While I'm watching Robert as he makes his way up to the control room, Jason gets up from his drumkit and lays down his sticks with a sigh of relief. "Well, I'm knackered," he laughs, then says to no-one in particular, "how 'bout you?"
"Actually, I think Perry and I might just be off to the pub for a bit to drown our sorrows," Roger chuckles warmly as he turns toward Jason. "Fancy coming along?"
I turn my head to face Jason as he brings a hand up to his chin, thinking it over for a bit, then smiles widely as he nods before he walks around the back of his drumkit, taking care not to knock over the lighted candles that've been placed around it. He makes his way toward Perry, who's putting his guitar back on the nearby stand, and just a second later they're both joined by Roger, who turns to face me and says, "You coming, Simon?"
I hesitate for a moment before I finally answer, "Nah, I'm gonna stay here for a bit and wait for Robert... y'know, in case he might wanna come along too. Hang on, what time is it?"
"Quarter to 11," says Perry before he quickly heads off toward the door, "see you tomorrow, Soz!"
Roger laughs and scratches the back of his head, then says, "He's a bit excited to say the least, isn't he? Alright then, Simon, see you tomorrow - but if you do decide to come down tonight, you're paying!" And with that, he walks through the door that Perry's left open in his eagerness, Jason not far off behind him - about a second later, Jason quickly bounds toward the door and closes it.
After I set my bass down on its stand, I make my way toward one of the many amps scattered around the studio and perch myself upon it, watching Robert in the control room. He's sitting on one of the chairs at the mixing desk and his head is turned to face Ross, who's standing upright by his side and gesticulating a bit, and I can just about make out an exasperated expression on Ross's face. And then, after about a minute of Ross talking, Robert turns his chair round so his whole body is turned toward the producer, and he scratches his head as he speaks - I can't hear either of them, mainly due to the soundproofed glass of the control booth, but I can only imagine what they must be talking about now. There's something we're not doing the way Ross wants us to, and he doesn't look too happy about it. From where I'm sitting I can sense Robert's desperation as he tries to reason with him, and when he's repeatedly shot down by him... I don't know if I can stand to see my best friend being treated this way, so I focus my attention on my fingernails for a moment, looking up every ten seconds or so.
When Ross finally leaves the control room, throwing out his arms, I stay where I am for a moment, thinking that Robert might need a bit of space to collect himself - but soon I'm nearly knocked off the amp by a familiar crackling sound.
"Si?" says Robert through the PA.
His voice is quiet, almost fragile... does he want me there with him? All I know is that I want to be there with him, purely because he's my best friend and he means the world to me, so I get up off the amp and carefully make my way toward the control room.
"You okay?" I ask him gently as I walk into the room and see him leaning forward upon the mixing desk, his hair looking even messier than usual with fatigue. He sighs heavily and sits back in his chair, bringing a hand up to his forehead and massaging his temple, before he turns toward me and says, "Not right now..."
I feel a stab of pain in my heart, and I take a deep breath to lessen it as I pull up another chair and bring it next to Robert, then sit down on it and turn to face him. "What's wrong, Robin?" I murmur soothingly. "Can you tell me, or..."
Robert looks back at me with glistening blue-grey eyes, free from his usual heavy eye make-up, and he sighs and looks down at his feet. "I can't take much more of this, Simon..." he says. "I really don't know what I was thinking..."
"Ross again?" I ask as I lean into him, taking his hand in mine. It's then that I notice for the billionth time how soft his hands are, and that I won't be able to let go of his hand any time soon. He looks back up at me again for a moment, then turns his face away and murmurs, "Yeah... it seems that nothing I do is good enough for him... nothing I say makes him think any different."
I sling an arm around Robert's shoulder and pull him in closer to me. "Oh, Rob... s' really not your fault, y'know," I coo gently. "Ross is just the most difficult bastard in the world, you've done nothing wrong, mate."
"But he's been a fan of ours for years, he says," Robert replies shakily, looking straight at me as if he's seeking some sort of comfort in my eyes. "I feel like - like I'm supposed to be this completely different person to who I really am - like, how he's always thought of me, or -"
"Robin, listen," I cut him off with a finger upon his lips. "You're not alone. You're not the only one who's getting all the wrong vibes off him - I don't know if I can stand him for another day, let alone by the time the album's finished. In fact, you know what? I fucking hate the bastard." With that, I gently raise my hand and clench it into a fist, highlighting the bruises and scratches on my knuckles for him to see, and I hear his quiet gasp of shock. "See? If I can't punch his face in I might as well have to make do with the walls."
"But, Simon," Robert stammers nervously, "the songs -"
"Never mind the fucking songs, it's you I'm worried about," I say as I gently stroke his shoulder. "Besides, it'll be worth it when the album's out and we're playing the songs live, right?"
Robert gazes back at me for a while, his eyes still glistening, and I move my other hand to wrap my arm around him as he leans his head on my shoulder. I pull him as close to my side as I can, and I can feel his body gently shaking with quiet sobs as the tears run down his face and dampen my shoulder a little bit. "Oh, Robin," I whisper to him, "it's okay... shhhh... it's okay, it's okay."
He flings his arm around my neck and buries his face in my shoulder, and that's when I find myself moving a hand to wipe the tears away from his face, before I bring the backs of my own fingers up to my mouth as if I were kissing his tears away. Right now I'd give anything to be able to show him just how much I love him, not just as my best friend but as so much more too... for nearly thirty years I've never had the strength to be able to tell Robert that I'm in love with him, purely out of fear that I'd lose him if I did, but right now I feel like something could happen very soon.
"I'd do anything, Robin - anything to make it better for you..." I murmur. "I... I love you so much..."
As soon as the words leave my lips I feel him stiffen, and I turn my face toward his own and see that he's staring back at me in shock, his blue eyes wide. I turn my face away from his for a moment and try to swallow the lump that's formed in my throat, suddenly feeling sort of ashamed. Oh god, what've I just said? Why did I say that? What've I done? I feel Robert pulling away out of my grasp and getting up out of his chair, and without looking back at him I can tell he's leaving the studio. It's not until I lift my head and turn to look at the empty chair next to me that I finally feel a pang of loss at his absence.
I lean forward on the mixing desk and fold my arms beneath my chin, letting out a heavy sigh as my eyes wander over all the sliders and knobs. It all seems meaningless now that I've most likely lost my best friend. All it took was five words from me to fuck things up. Five words too many.
