This new story is inspired by Extreme's song "Seven Sundays".

The characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

Thanks for the incredible help to loopylou992 for pre-reading and Alice's White Rabbit for betaing.

~7S~

A few words from me before we start. This is my first supernatural story, but it's still slash. The MC's are Carlisle, Jasper and Edward and not all of the Twilight characters will be included. Ah, and no-one dies, promise. Well, enjoy.

Chapter 1. If I Had One Wish

Carlisle's POV

Call it a coincidence.

Yes, I do work on Sundays. Yes, I know I am a loner. And, yes, I know it's not common to treat the very same patient every week, every Sunday, with the same injury.

Well, not exactly the same injury, if I have to be precise, for his scars appear in different places—but always on his forearms. And always on a Sunday. And it always hurts, so fiercely, to look at those … I would have called them bite marks if it weren't irrational.

Jasper's POV

There he is, his smooth blond hair reflecting the dim lights in the hospital corridors. His stride, ever so wide; his look, ever so determined; his hands, ever so delicate. He's not even tall, and yet, he's a giant. His presence fills the air with meaning, with purpose. He's here to save lives. And if there's no life to be saved at this exact moment, then he's healing wounds.

That's what I'm here for. I do have wounds, wounds to be healed. Just like he has noticed, my recent bite mark needs urgent attendance on this fine Sunday morning.

Carlisle's POV

That's one useless wheelchair. His new wound is bleeding so obviously. The sleeve of his plaid shirt is pulled as far above his elbow as possible, and yet, it's drenched with blood. The nurse is wheeling him into the treatment room; he uses his good hand to enhance the left wheel's rotation and his chair takes an unexpected turn. It bumps into the doorframe; he hisses and curses under the pile of golden curls, which are now hiding half his face, then a smirk appears on his lips out of nowhere.

"Doctor Cullen, can we get rid of the wheelchair, please? Why is it even necessary?"

The voice, it floats in between our standing figures; he has jumped to his feet and kicked the aluminum frame of the chair with a thud. Oh, God, is he wearing those boots again? It's summer, for fuck's sake.

Jasper's POV

"Nice to see you again, Doctor."

He's staring at me, mouth agape, probably incapable of speech at the moment. The nurse is deliberately slow. She's protecting him. What, am I falling in the category of psycho-patient? Am I really? Ah, to hell with it. Maybe I should ask her to go away. Gently. But just before I do ...

"Esme, he's fine. Leave us." His hand dismisses her; she steers the chair out. Bless you, nurse Esme. Leave us alone. Bless you, Doctor Cullen; we are left alone.

Carlisle's POV

I am not a psychiatrist. I'm a surgeon. Is it my responsibility to ask him if he inflicts these injuries to himself voluntarily? Should I alert Social Services?

Iodine, antiseptic, two stitches, a patch of bandage.

This one is mild compared to last week's.

"Mr. Hale." Takes him fifteen seconds to look up, and then he stares into my eyes with his still, blue irises and those pitch black dilated pupils for a whole eternity. "Raise your hand and move your fingers for me." I only register the twitch of his digits with my peripheral vision because I am stuck, nailed into numbness by that piercing blue stare.

His nerves are intact. So far.

Jasper's POV

Am I giving up too much? Will he know? That stare was a mistake, I guess.

He uses his forefinger to check my reflex. His nail traces a path from my elbow, up around my new wound, to my wrist, and then my palm. I shiver, a jolt of electricity running through my arm, my neck, and the remains of my brain. In that very moment, I am helpless.

I'm not bleeding anymore so he sends me out.

"I hope I won't see you soon, Mr. Hale," he says.

I hope I will see you soon, Dr. Cullen. Next Sunday, maybe.

My feet won't listen. I stumble on my way outside.

Carlisle's POV

Yet another Sunday.

"Esme, what do you think about that patient Jasper Hale? Do you remember him?"

"With all due respect, Doctor, do I look stupid?" She has that incredulous look in her eyes, as if I'm on drugs or something.

"Sorry?"

"Doctor, how the hell is it even possible not to remember him? He's been here every Sunday during the last few months. Plus, he's, well, I think he's our best-looking patient. Not just pretty. He's … oh, that would be a personal opinion. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Esme. Go on." Does she see what I see?

"Um, he's perfect. I mean, his looks. Everything a girl could dream of."

Or, everything a guy could dream of. Good. I'm not the only one who sees it.

"Thank you, Esme. What do you think about his mental health, then?"

"Not my job to answer that question, Doctor. But I think he's not right in the head. Just saying."

"Why would you say that, Esme? Is it because of his wounds?"

"Yes. Definitely, yes. The staff and I, you know, we're betting how long it will take him to bite his own hand off. Or at least get it paralyzed. Should be pretty soon."

"He needs help, doesn't he? Not only a few stitches?"

"That he does, Doctor. That he does."

I look out the window just in time to see him coming out of a taxi at the front entrance. A cloth covers his left arm, and the little bloody spot is nearly invisible.

Jasper's POV

I bet he thinks I'm inflicting those injuries by myself. Nevermind. As long as I get to see him every Sunday.

Carlisle's POV

This whole Jasper Hale thing leaves me wondering.

If I had one wish, would it be to keep seeing him every Sunday? Is this not selfish, considering he's wounded and bleeding every time? Please, Genie, don't come to me right now. Because my one wish would be so narcissistic.

Edward's POV

My smile fades as I look at my reflection. A deep inhale brings his smell back into my throat; my nostrils flare with the ecstasy of breathing him in once more. He left an hour ago, and yet, it's so intense … Magic. His smell is pure magic.

I have to wait for another long week now.

Until next Sunday.

A/N Yep. Until next Sunday. But give me your thoughts now, please.