Re: the lighthouse, inside.
"It's the same thing," he said. Bleak, shitty, either way it didn't sound good. Giving up never did. It was weak, cowardly, pathetic, a host of words hurtled like knives and meant to belittle those who'd lost the will to keep fighting. The man of smoke had thought himself stronger, strong enough, but perhaps that had been merely another illusion. He was starting to run out of those. "Maybe I am a hypocrite. But we're different people. Different circumstances. That's why." He didn't do well with being pushed. He'd taken it, and he'd taken it, and he'd taken it, and he'd tried, but then he'd lost his patience and now, now no one could push smoke. No one could make it do what they thought best. The lightkeeper needed someone more tangible than he, perhaps driven by fire instead of the tiny embers left over from the one that had burned too hot, fizzled and died. She thought safer was bullshit, he thought it was peace.
He paused when she leaned into his touch. That wasn't how it was supposed to be. But, he reasoned, the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could face back into obscurity. Away from her, away from the crumbling lighthouse and the water, away from the gulls and the light above. "I've tried. I've fought. Everyone wants something." His answers were short, the bare minimum; necessity and nothing more. Talking was not easy, talking to strangers less so. He would prefer to go unseen. Unnoticed.
While he worked at her stays, he did try to listen. He did try to understand. It was hard to follow, though, and the smoke grew thicker, darker grey, rising up to his knees as though rivalling the water. "Sick makes the light worse," he said, slowly. "Side effects make it worse. What makes it better, then? And this person, why don't you tell them? If you don't want to... fool, then don't." Clearly he wasn't very good at offering advice.
Another sigh. "You push, but you don't make me do anything. I could leave if I wanted to." He wasn't entirely certain of that, but he sounded so. "I'm close." Pause. "It doesn't matter." He didn't want real. Just once, he didn't want real.