Re: the lighthouse, inside.
The man of smoke had never lit anyone, not in his mind. He simply tried not to drag anyone down while allowing them to cling, tug, this way and that, demand and ask like he was comprised of strong, flexible stuff instead of smoke. Perhaps he could have offered to help the lightkeeper with his shirt, but he didn't. He'd had enough difficult with her stays. He helped nothing, being here, and she wasn't what she needed, and he wasn't something that would be lit. Dark was safer too.
"You could try." Even as he said it, he knew it was useless do insist. He couldn't convince her to attempt escape when he'd all but announced that he'd given up on life itself. Had their roles been reserved, he would have balked at any attempt to push him into leaving. "I'm sorry," he added, because she sounded sad, and it was clear she wanted more than this. More than being trapped. But he wasn't the one to free her, he couldn't even help her at all. He let her the key, let her throw open the door, and he looked out at the world beyond. Her fingers had been cold, but the sensation didn't linger. Nothing lingered; that was the point. He had no desire to stay and yet there was no great longing for the outdoors either.
He looked upon her when she was illuminated, but his gaze gave nothing away. "Do you want me to want to?" The man of smoke didn't understand that, either. Young, sickly, and he didn't smile when she laughed. "No." Why would it? He shook his head.