Chapter 24: The Ick Factor
Monica walked into Central Perk on January 10th holding hands with a kid.
Not a kid-kid. But definitely younger than her by a lot. Maybe twenty, twenty-one. He had the eager, slightly nervous energy of someone trying very hard to seem mature.
The gang was already at the couch—minus Ross, who was at the museum—and their reactions were immediate and varied.
"Monica?" Rachel said, voice pitching up. "Who's this?"
"Everyone, this is Ethan." Monica's tone dared them to comment. "Ethan, this is Rachel, Chandler, Joey, and Phoebe."
"Hey," Ethan said, waving awkwardly.
I was restocking cups behind the counter, watching the dynamic unfold with practiced invisibility.
Chandler's expression was doing complicated things. "Ethan. Cool. How old are you, Ethan?"
"I'm in college," Ethan said, which wasn't an answer.
"Which college?"
"Uh... I go to school in the area."
Monica's jaw tightened. "Can we not do this right now?"
"Do what?" Joey asked, genuinely confused.
"Interrogate my boyfriend like he's on trial."
The word "boyfriend" made everyone pause. Monica had called him her boyfriend. That meant this was serious, or at least serious-adjacent.
I made Monica her usual cappuccino and Ethan a regular coffee—didn't use Passive Glimpse because I didn't need to. The story would unfold on its own.
They settled at a table away from the main couch, and I watched Monica try to have a normal date while knowing her friends were staring.
Twenty minutes later, Phoebe walked over to the counter.
"Gunther," she said quietly. "How old do you think Ethan is?"
"I don't know. Early twenties?"
"He's got acne."
"Some people get adult acne."
"He ordered chocolate milk."
That was harder to explain away.
Phoebe wandered back to the couch and started whispering with the others. I couldn't hear the conversation, but I saw Monica glance over with increasing stress.
At 6:47 PM, the truth came out.
"I'm seventeen," Ethan admitted, voice cracking slightly on the second word.
The entire coffeehouse went silent. Monica's face did a journey through emotions—shock, betrayal, horror, resignation—in about three seconds.
"You're what?" she managed.
"I thought you knew! I mean, I said I was in school—"
"I thought you meant college!"
"I said I was a senior!"
"A college senior!"
The gang was watching with barely-concealed fascination. Chandler looked like Christmas had come early. Rachel's hand was over her mouth. Joey seemed confused about why this was a big deal. Phoebe was nodding like this confirmed her suspicions.
"I have to go," Monica said, standing up so fast her chair scraped. "Ethan, this is—we can't—I need to think."
She left without her purse. Ethan scrambled after her, calling "Monica, wait!"
The gang erupted the moment the door closed.
"Seventeen!" Chandler was delighted. "Monica is dating a high schooler!"
"That's so illegal," Rachel said.
"Is it illegal?" Joey asked.
"He's seventeen. She's twenty-six. That's definitely illegal."
"He probably has a curfew," Chandler added. "Does she have to drive him home before his mom gets worried?"
They were having fun with it, dissecting Monica's relationship disaster with the kind of glee that comes from someone else's embarrassment.
I made drinks and said nothing, but I caught the moment Monica came back inside—face red, clearly having sent Ethan home—and locked eyes with me.
The look said: please don't pile on.
I gave her a slight nod and went back to the espresso machine.
Monica - 7:23 PM
Monica Geller sat at the orange couch while her friends made jokes about her dating a teenager and wanted to sink into the floor.
"He said he was in college!" she defended for the third time. "He looked older!"
"He ordered chocolate milk," Phoebe pointed out.
"Lots of adults drink chocolate milk!"
"Name one," Chandler challenged.
"I... Joey drinks chocolate milk!"
"Joey also thinks the Netherlands and Holland are different countries," Rachel said.
"They're not?" Joey looked confused.
Monica put her head in her hands. This was humiliating. She'd genuinely liked Ethan—he was sweet and funny and made her feel attractive. And now she was the woman who'd accidentally dated a high school student.
"I need coffee," she muttered.
She walked to the counter where Gunther was cleaning the espresso machine. He looked up when she approached.
"Can I get a cappuccino?" she asked.
"Sure."
He made it quickly, not commenting on the Ethan disaster, not joining in the mockery happening ten feet away.
When he set the cup in front of her, she noticed the extra care he'd taken with the foam. Perfect rosetta pattern. Ideal temperature.
"Thanks," she said.
"People judge," Gunther said quietly. "Doesn't mean they're right."
Monica looked at him, surprised he'd spoken up. He'd been so quiet lately—just making drinks, being present without interfering.
"They're my friends," she said. "They're allowed to judge."
"They all have relationship disasters too. Chandler with Janice, Ross with Carol, Rachel with Paolo. They're not exactly experts."
"True." She took a sip of the cappuccino and felt some of the tension ease. "How's Sarah?"
"Good. We're going to brunch on Sunday. With you guys, if the invitation still stands."
"It does. Definitely does." Monica smiled. "She seems really good for you."
"Thanks."
He went back to cleaning, and Monica returned to the couch feeling slightly less humiliated.
Gunther had defended her. Quietly, without making a scene, but he'd said what needed saying: her friends weren't perfect either.
He's good people, Monica thought, using Joey's phrase. Actually good people.
She made a mental note to remember that.
The next day, Monica came in alone at 2 PM looking stressed.
I had her cappuccino ready before she ordered—green light active for calm and peace.
"Thanks, Gunther," she said, accepting the cup.
First time she'd used my name without prompting. Just casual acknowledgment, like I was someone who existed in her world as an actual person.
Progress. Real, measurable progress.
At 3:15 PM, Caroline Walsh entered with three colleagues.
I recognized the setup immediately—business meeting disguised as coffee. All four were in expensive suits, carrying briefcases, clearly coming from or going to something important.
Caroline spotted me and smiled. "Gunther! Perfect timing. We need a place to meet for an hour. Can we take that table?"
She pointed at the large table in the corner—the one we usually kept open for groups.
"Absolutely. What can I get everyone?"
I used Passive Glimpse on two of the new people while taking orders.
First: a man in his fifties, gray hair, the kind of confidence that came from running things. Vision showed boardrooms, multiple assistants, expensive office with skyline views. Senior executive, possibly C-suite level.
Second: a woman in her forties, sharp suit, carrying herself like she'd fought for every inch of respect. Vision showed trading floors, rapid decisions, money moving in real-time. Finance sector, high up.
I made their drinks with strategic color infusions. Caroline got pink light—reinforcing the connection. The senior executive got blue for confidence. The finance woman got orange for creative thinking. The fourth person, whose vibe screamed "along for the ride," got yellow for general positivity.
They settled at the table with laptops and papers, and I went back to normal work.
But I'd expanded my network by three in one afternoon. Three more high-value contacts who would remember Central Perk as the place with excellent coffee and good atmosphere.
Caroline caught my eye when they were leaving an hour later. "Perfect as always. We'll be back."
"Anytime."
She left a twenty-dollar tip on forty dollars worth of drinks.
Caroline - 4:47 PM (Merrill Lynch Office)
Caroline Walsh sat in her office reviewing the meeting notes and thinking about the barista.
Gunther had served them with the same quiet competence he always showed. Perfect drinks, unobtrusive presence, exactly what they'd needed.
But more than that—the coffee had actually been perfect. Her colleagues had commented on it. Martin, who normally complained about everything, had asked if they could meet there again.
The kid has something special, Caroline thought. Instinct, skill, whatever you want to call it.
She'd been tracking his progress for months now. Every time she brought someone new to Central Perk, Gunther delivered. Made them feel welcome. Created an experience worth returning for.
That was business gold. The kind of thing investors paid attention to.
She made a note to check in with him soon. Mention investment opportunities again. See if he was ready to think bigger than just working the counter.
Because at the rate he was going, Gunther was going to own that place eventually. And when he did, Caroline wanted in on the ground floor.
By closing time, I'd added three confirmed high-value regulars to my network, gotten Monica to use my name unprompted, and supported her through her friends' judgment.
Not a bad day's work.
I walked home thinking about expansion. Nine wealthy/influential regulars now. Not enough to secure a business loan yet, but moving in the right direction.
Monica using my name had been the real victory though. Small thing, but meaningful. She'd transitioned from "the coffee guy" to "Gunther" in her head, which meant I existed as an individual person.
That's how friendships started. Small acknowledgments. Casual conversations. Being there during small crises without making a big deal about it.
I was becoming someone they turned to in small ways. Not for major problems—they still had each other for that. But for quiet support, understanding, coffee made the way they needed it.
That was enough for now.
Sunday was brunch with the gang and Sarah. First social event outside Central Perk. First time being included in their world rather than serving it.
The journey was slow. Methodical. Brick by careful brick.
But I was building something real. One small interaction at a time.
My studio apartment felt warmer when I entered it. I made dinner and reviewed my notebook—documenting the network expansion, Monica's milestone, the financial trajectory.
Four months in this world. 120 days of coffee-making and power-testing and careful relationship building.
The invisible barista was becoming visible. The background character was developing his own storyline.
And somehow, impossibly, it was working.
I fell asleep thinking about brunch and business networks and the strange satisfaction of being called by name.
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