Re: the lighthouse, inside.
"Not literally." The man of smoke didn't dwell on his answers, lest truth slip through. Too much might be seen and he much preferred to be unseen, at least for the foreseeable future. In a place where reality ceased to matter such things were possible. Her response to why she was a lightkeeper was simple, too, words without directness, and he smiled. He could appreciate his own traits mirrored in others. "Ah. Might as well be." As for why being smokey worked for him, he didn't let himself dwell on that either. "I'm here, but not. Untethered." Smoke billowed over his mouth, clouds and clouds, like it was intervening for his own good to silence him. It was even less of an answer than before but he added nothing, corrected nothing. "I was going to answer," his voice muffled behind smoke. "The difference is how." But he smiled back, and the smoke curled upward in mimicry.
He inhaled in preparation to answer, but instead he chose to focus on the last one she asked. "Sometimes." Not a lie, not the whole truth. Safe.
An ephemeral being such as himself did not know how it felt to drown, or at least he'd convinced himself he didn't; he imagined it would be unpleasant. "Is that why you're wet? Or did that happen first?" His chin tipped down when she pressed her fingers to his chest, but he didn't feel as he should have. The touch was there, but it felt as though there were layers and layers between them. "Barely. Yes. Why does it matter if it comes off?" His lips twitched, entertainment and confusion wound together as one.