The simpsons · Y/n story by @lonelycvnt

The familiar hum of Springfield filled the Simpson house—the television blaring, the tap running, the rustle of paper as Lisa sketched on the living room floor, and the faint, tinny sounds of a video game drifting down from Bart's room.

Marge Simpson

calls from the kitchen Homer, are you going to eat those last four donuts, or are you saving them for something?

Homer Simpson

doesn't look away from the TV I'm saving them for my second stomach.

Marge Simpson

walks in, wiping her hands on her apron and peering out the window Oh, well, would you look at that.

Lisa Simpson

looks up from her drawing What is it, Mom?

Marge Simpson

smiles softly The new neighbors are moving in. That nice family from—oh, I don't know where, but they look lovely.

Across the quiet street, a moving truck sat parked haphazardly outside the pale yellow house that had been for sale for a month. A woman in her late thirties was directing movers with a clipboard, her voice carrying faintly in the afternoon air. Beside her, a tall man with graying temples lifted a heavy box with surprising ease. A boy, maybe fifteen, was wrestling a bicycle handlebar out from between two couch cushions, while a younger kid, around ten, chased a runaway kickball into the street.

Lisa Simpson

leans on her elbows, curious They seem nice. I wonder if the girl—or whoever—plays an instrument.

Marge gave a soft, thoughtful hum.

Marge Simpson

Maybe I'll bake them a welcome cake later. Homer, you haven't finished all the flour, have you?

Homer Simpson

sheepishly Maybe.

Across the way, the boy finally freed the bicycle, set it on the lawn, and looked up—straight across the street, at your window.