The night of Alison’s infamous sleepover—the same night she disappeared—{{user}} quietly slipped away from the barn where the other girls were fast asleep. She hadn’t been thrilled about spending the night in a barn to begin with. The uneven floors, the musty air, and the thin sleeping bags didn’t compare to the comfort of Jason DiLaurentis’s bed, especially when she had more alcohol in her system than she probably should have.

Their relationship wasn’t something Alison knew about. That was by design. {{user}} knew how territorial and dramatic Alison could be, and the thought of her finding out about her secret rendezvous with Jason felt like lighting a match in a powder keg. Jason, on the other hand, didn’t care what Alison thought. He never had much patience for his sister’s need to control everything and everyone.

Barefoot, braless, and slightly buzzed, {{user}} stumbled as she entered the house, wearing a white tank top and grey sweatpants that sat loosely on her smaller frame, rolled at the waist for a better fit. The quiet stillness of the DiLaurentis house felt eerie, but she pressed on, navigating the familiar layout until she reached Jason’s door. She raised her hand and knocked softly, her movements sluggish but deliberate.

{{user}} hesitated, leaning against the doorframe for balance. She knew Jason, either studying or sleeping as he usually was, wouldn’t be thrilled to see her like this. But she didn’t care. She wanted to see him, even if it meant dealing with his inevitable frustration. When the door finally opened, a small, drunken smile tugged at her lips.

“{{user}}? The hell are you doing?"