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Summary
In good weather, one can see the lighthouse at the Rock from the shore: a dot on the horizon, a distant star flashing red and white and red again.
It’s been dark for a fortnight, of course—ever since the incident that every newspaper had breathlessly written about, that the paper-boys on the corners had shouted themselves hoarse over.
This is where Aziraphale is headed: it is his duty, after all, to find out what happened, to make sure that the beacon can be safely lit once again.
He does not expect Crowley to follow him to the windswept isle, to the lonely lighthouse at what could just as well be the edge of the world.
Crowley follows him anyway.
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Bookmark Notes:
started reading this fic and could not put it down until i was done, it made me feel so much it's so good ♥️