Currently frothing at the mouth over slow into rapid decline.
Specifically being poisoned.
Some initial thing happening, could be a stab, could be drink. Something they inevitably look past/don't consider being a problem throughout the rest of the day.
Feel a bit off.. maybe an extra glass of water, a pain med, a nap.
By the evening they're feeling bad. Hand hovering over their stomach as the world tips and swims.
Shaking their head to try and ease the symptoms. A splash of cold water that gives them a few more moments of clarity.
Trying to get ahold of a friend, or sending some vague confused texts that someone needs to stop by their apartment. Unlocking their door, and as they try to get back to a couch or bed, their stomach flips, the world dims, slipping from holding the wall, collapsing onto the cool floor. On their knees, Brow covered in sweat, shuddering and curling in on themselves with a soft groan caught in their throat.
Whoever they've contacted finally reaches them. The slow opening of the door.
"Hey I got your message-".
It's too quiet.
They flick on the light in the living room.
Laying there with shallow breaths, hair a mess, shirt clinging to their clammy skin.
The way they slide to their side, gently moving hair, a cool hand on their far too warm forehead. The glazed eyes fluttered, faintly able to make out their friends presence, a moan at being moved. One lost hand trying to find some part of their friend to hold as they semi lucidly murmur.
"I..hh-don't......something's...ngh..wrong.."