Re: the lighthouse, inside.
"I can't try." The lightkeeper sounded sure, and she poked a very real finger at his smokey chest. Her prodding was hard, and she had none of the gentleness of other girls. She couldn't even blame that on the endless walls of crumbling gray. She poked, and her finger trembled and was pale, and she didn't expect him to try to help her. She didn't hold it against him, and it was an indication of some association in her mind. He reminded her of someone, and all of the pushing and prodding she'd been inclined to do stopped when the association coalesced. She was not particularly self-aware in the normal world, but here there was a certain level of strange comprehension, like the knowledge that she was this thing that crumbled.
She took his hand, her fingers winding cold against his smokey wrist again, and she placed his hand on the wall at her side. It was cold and wet, and it shook in the same rhythm as her fingers. If she could manage to hold onto that gaze, she took the same hand and settled it on her chest, above the open gap in the gray shirt. There, the trembling was the same. "I can't escape me," she said in that rough, blunt voice. "Said don't bother trying, right?" He had. She was young, impressionable, and she was stupidly naive at times.
As for wanting him to kiss her, she nodded. "You remind me of someone. Want to see what it feels like. Know you don't care." Self-deprecation, and the light creaked. "Last thing I'll ask, then you can go."