Ji-woo takes bites of oigochu and ssamjang, chewing so loudly that I can hear him over the restaurant din of clinking glasses and drunken laughter.

He pours shots of soju, and says, Here. Cheers to good company. I clink my glass with his and smile, knocking the shot back with little difficulty because it doesn’t taste like anything.

TAKING SPACE BY NATALIE MATHENY 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 123

Ji-woo takes bites of oigochu and ssamjang, chewing so loudly that I can hear him over the restaurant din of clinking glasses and drunken laughter.

I look out the window at the pre-spring slush that has accumulated on the sill.

“It’s getting pretty gross out there, huh?” I say.

Ji-woo takes a second to breathe and grunt an agreement, and shovels more meat and green peppers into his mouth.

I have hardly touched what’s in front of me, aside from a few small scoops of rice and soup.

“I just realized I never asked what you did for a living,” I tell him.

It’s our third date and I haven’t bothered to ask until now, but part of me doesn’t want to get to know him well enough to hurt him.

“This,” Ji-woo says, and points to the barbecue grill in the middle of the table. “I’m a chef.”

Ji-woo turns the slab of meat over. The side that has just come off the heat is perfectly seared and sizzling with grease.

He pours shots of soju, and says, “Here. Cheers to good company.”

I clink my glass with his and smile, knocking the shot back with little difficulty because it doesn’t taste like anything. He smiles back. There are flakes of red pepper in his teeth.