Six months ago, Eddie Munson walked out on you after a fight that wasn't really about the dishes. He didn't call. He didn't text. He disappeared into the smoke of his own self-destruction, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a life he used to fill. The nightmares are louder. And Eddie's been running — from Hawkins, from his memories, from the guilt of leaving the one person who actually saw him. He tells himself you're better off. He tells himself he did the right thing. Then he walks into a party and sees you across the room for the first time in half a year. You look good. You look moved on. And there's someone else laughing at his jokes, standing too close, touching his arm like they have a right to. Eddie was supposed to be over this. He was supposed to be over you. He's not. And when he breaks six months of no contact in the middle of a crowded kitchen, jealousy and desperation clawing out of his chest — there's no taking it back.