Sometimes, Allen wondered why he was here. He'd been young and stupid when he first came to the Order. To be fair, his master had held up a hammer, and he'd learned, slowly but surely, not to mess with his master. In fact, he didn't even need the hammer to convince him to leave, because it meant getting away.
So when he asked, "I take it you're not coming with me," that tremor in his voice wasn't out of fear, but fragile, fragile, hope. I hope to god you're not coming with me. The idea of being able to spend his time feeding himself rather than an alcoholic redhead's debauchery was the most appealing thing since he'd wanted to bring Mana back.
But oh no, he'd learned his lesson. Things that seem like wonderful, fantastic ideas are usually the worst. Bring your father figure back from the dead at the cost of screaming his name? Worst idea ever. So, likewise, run away from the crazy general and that growing pile of bills? Probably also a terrible idea. For all he knew, some sort of divine justice would smite him, likely in the form of cold hard steel in Cross' pimp hand. And everyone knew that he had two.
Still, he'd come to the Order, and even after he felt certain that his master had moved on to some other continent and was thinking about anything but him, he felt like he could stay. There was something he liked about being here, and it wasn't Lenalee's legs, Kanda's sexy blue hair, or Lavi's eyepatch. In fact, the more beautiful people were, the more he distrusted them. Men, especially.
After all, his outlook was entirely skewed. Cross was known to be an extremely attractive man, and yet to him, he just looked like any of the bilious Akuma that he blew up on a regular basis, except he could never blow his mentor up, no matter how hard he tried. And, oh, he had tried. He hadn't gained all that skill for nothing. Each pass while sparring was in earnest, training hard for the day he could run away knowing that there was nothing his master could do to bring him back.
He'd disliked that stupid blue exorcist instantly. Threatening him with the lower register of his voice and looming like that, before he'd even had a chance to step inside. It was simply terrible manners. And his masculinity was slightly threatened by that menacing baritone, made only slightly better by that ridiculously silky ponytail. The hair really was Allen's favorite feature of Kanda's, but only because his own hair was so much manlier. And yes, it was a contest.
Lavi was slightly better. Even though it was obvious that he was also good looking, he wasn't nearly as beautiful as most of the main characters. Even the mad scientist wasn't bad looking, though Allen's favorite thing about him was that floopy hat. It was as though Komui knew how to set Allen at ease, since he made a point of wearing that hat every day, which made him seem utterly harmless. Anyways, Lavi would quickly become Allen's closest friend here, simply because he was safely disfigured, so he only had one glimmering green eye to charm people with. And Allen trusted that more.
Nonetheless, none of these people were the reason he stayed. He didn't really think that they'd made a particularly informed decision when they'd decided to follow god. After all, if that god had really been worth his salty godliness, then perhaps he could've equipped them all with Akuma-defying machine guns complete with Akuma repellent vests, so that they wouldn't have to die every time an Akuma puked on them or whatever.
No, his reason for staying was because there was something he'd never had before at the Order.
There was a sparkling man who listened eagerly to everything he had to say, and never grew tired of hearing him ramble on. He satisfied every single one of Allen's needs, and even complimented him while doing so. It was the best situation that he'd ever come across, and there was no way he was leaving this place. Each time he had a mission, he finished it as quickly as possible and high-tailed it to his favorite place in the whole world: the window to Jerry's kitchen.
Even now, the chef was paying rapt attention to every syllable that fell from his lips as if trees would grow and birds would sing from his words alone. The bliss that surrounded them was perfect, and Allen would swear that a bloody rainbow was hovering right between them, because the world was at peace. Until- thwack.
Allen rubbed his head, before remembering not to glare. Lenalee was here, ushering him away from his extremely compelling conversational partner. But it was okay, he'd gotten his last words out, and he could survive without his daily compliment. She was talking to him, and pony-tail and one-eye were there too. Out of all things, he definitely wasn't here for the friendship. In fact, he hadn't known that they were friends until Lenalee had harped on about it for over an hour, emphasizing each point by hitting him in some way.
Really, how was hitting someone an indication of camaraderie? If anything, it was confusing. It's like attempting to train a dog to do something and rewarding it by thwacking it instead of giving it a treat. And Allen loved treats. Just like that tray of treats that was going to that Finder's table. He wiped the drool from his chin.
"Now then, Allen," a flamboyant voice essayed forth. "Here's what you ordered!" With a flourish, everything he'd asked for was set in front of him, an array, a smorgasbord, a cornucopia of never ending delight. And Allen settled down to spend some quality time with the most necessary and beloved thing in his life, that made all the fighting and killing worthwhile: food.