He's still holding his cigarette when he wraps his arms around Q's torso, hands fists, knuckles white and the cigarette in between those fingers, without a single concern who might see, hear. For a few seconds, the outside world is like a dream he's almost begun to forget. Everything melts until all that's left is just them. "I was a failure." Words he could never say to Rufus, a fact he feels Q needs to know.
He believes that Q's the better version of him, that he'll continue to improve until there's nothing left to change. And it really is a pleasure. And Robert hopes he's nowhere near as afflicted as he is, that the tempests inside his own mind aren't in his twin's. Doesn't seem to be, but the human mind's an inexplicable marvel he can't even begin unravel.
When everything crashes over him like a tidal wave and the world comes flooding in, his grasp falters. "It is," he sighs against his neck.