He had spent one day in delirium, one unwell but relatively contented, another one mostly well and very happy, and the next two in total bliss. Today, if the trend had continued Draco should have achieved nirvana or ascended to heaven itself, but instead he found himself feeling restless. It was ridiculous. He had spent the past six days being doted on hand and foot, fucked silly, and generally luxuriating in a state of happiness that was more perfect than anything he had felt in a very, very long time; he should never want to leave this place. And a part of him didn't want to ever leave.