neighbors | barry allen//the flash

one | boxes

Hauling the giant cardboard box of kitchen supplies up five flights of stairs was not her brightest idea, Clara James would freely admit that. She thought she was in fairly decent shape. She casually jogged a few times a week and did some yoga every once and awhile, but that didn't count as being in shape, she supposed. Do Olympic athletes get tired after climbing five flights of stairs? What about five flights of stairs with various pots, pans, and spatulas? Do they ever get really tired? This was what she was contemplating as she finally climbed the last few stairs. She leaned against the wall, wheezing, and readjusted her grip on the box, hoping her arms didn't fall off in the process.

When Clara finally caught her breath, at least some of it, she looked at the number of the closest door. 602. Right, of course. Her apartment number was 618, meaning she was all the way on the other side of the hall. She should have known the stairs wouldn't be anywhere close to her door, not with her luck. Huffing and puffing her way down the hall, she passed the elevator that was so conveniently located in the middle of the hall. She was definitely taking the elevator next time, fitness be damned.

Finally, she reached her door, at the end of the hallway, and also right next to another set of stairs. Of course. She just chose the wrong set of stairs to go up. She also suddenly realized her keys were in her back pocket. Meaning she would have to set the box down to retrieve them, and then pick it back up after her door was unlocked, because there was no way she could hold this box with one arm. She wanted to cry. Well, not really; it wouldn't be easy to wipe away the tears while holding this box.

Instead, she settled on letting out a very audible groan, just as she heard the door next to hers creak open. Her pitiful groan was cut off as she took in the sight of the very tall, very beautiful man that poked his very cute head out. Her knees wanted to buckle at the sight of him. Or maybe they were exhausted from all this physical exertion. She wasn't really sure. But she was very sure that this six-foot-something, slightly lanky, chocolate haired man was just about the most beautiful creature to walk this earth. And her face was red and sweaty and her hair was sticking to her neck and carrying the box had hiked up her shirt leaving half her side and stomach exposed. But the box was probably covering that. Probably. Hopefully.

"Do you want some help?" The guy asked, quickly taking in her predicament.

"Please!" Clara gasped, probably too eagerly. "My keys are in my back pocket."

"I'll hold the box for you," he replied, standing there expectantly. Clara wasn't quite sure what her plan was before that. Of course she couldn't expect some random guy she hadn't even really met yet to just reach into her back pocket to get her keys. Although, she was kinda glad he didn't jump at the chance to touch her butt. 

"Right," Clara nodded her head and gently passed the box to the guy. She dug her keys out of her back pocket herself, and quickly opened the door. She stepped inside, then, holding the door open, she said, "Come on in." 

"Where do you want this?" He asked as he shuffled inside?

"Uh, on the counter is fine," she replied, flipping on the light to illuminate the room. Clara inspected the room as he set the box down. This was the first time she had seen the apartment in real life. She hadn't had time to see it before she signed the lease. It was a little smaller than the pictures let on, but she couldn't complain, the rent was cheap and the location was decent. She snapped out of her apartment analyst mode when her eyes landed back on the stranger standing in her kitchen. 

"I'm Barry Allen, by the way," he introduced himself, smiling and offering his hand. 

"Right! I'm Clara James, your new neighbor," she replied, shaking his hand. 

"So did you really carry that box up five flights of stairs?" he asked playfully.

"Yeah!" she sighed, "It was a huge mistake." 

"I'm impressed, that box was heavy."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks so." They both let out a small laugh. 

"Do you want help carrying the rest of your stuff?" Barry asked politely.

"I'm not really sure you know what you're offering to do," Clara smirked.

"These apartments aren't really that big," Barry shrugged, "You can't have that much stuff to bring in here."

"I think you're severely underestimating me, Barry." 

"Guess there's only one way to find out."

While the two disagreed on how much stuff was actually essential, especially when space was limited, they did agree that taking the elevator definitely beat climbing the stairs. 

"The last box!" Clara cried in excitement, setting down her final box of clothes in her bedroom. 

"Finally," Barry rolled his eyes in exaggeration. 

"I told you what you were getting into, and you agreed," she reminded him.

"You were right, I definitely underestimated you." 

"I really can't thank you enough though, Barry," Clara smiled. "This would have taken forever without you." 

"No problem, it's what good neighbors are for." 

"If you ever need sugar, or really any baking supplies, I totally owe you." 

"I might have to hold you to that," Barry chuckled. His phone started buzzing in his pocket, so he pulled it out and checked it. "I'm sorry, I really gotta go, it's work." 

"Right, that's totally fine," Clara replied. "Thanks again for all your help." 

"See ya, Clara," Barry gave her a small smile before walking out and putting the phone up to his ear. 

Clara gently closed the door behind her and sighed as the weight of her loneliness hit her. She wasn't sure why she thought this move was going to be so great. She was alone here. She didn't know anyone. Well, she had just met Barry, and he was beyond handsome, but he was nowhere close to being her best friend or anyone she could really talk to. She definitely should have gotten a roommate, so she wouldn't be alone all the time. 

She started a hot shower and climbed in, letting the water roll down her back and the tears roll down her cheeks. A year ago, she would have never thought she would end up like this now. Of course, maybe she should have, maybe she had been too oblivious and didn't want to face the facts. She should have anticipated the inevitable disaster that would hit, and she should have prepared for it. Maybe then, she wouldn't be in such a mess. Things would get better, she promised herself. She would be okay. But for now, she just needed to cry.