Remus had always actually sympathized with those who thought poorly of him. He loathed what he was and always had. It was only because of how his dearest friends treated him that made him realize it wasn't such a terrible thing -- or rather, it didn't have to define who he was as a person. There was more to him than the wolf; he was a good person, who was capable of having friends and of so much more than what his affliction had caused for him. But he didn't blame anyone else for not being able to see that, too. There were werewolves out there who were the monsters they were made out to be. Remus had run with them, much to his dismay, and seen first hand how dangerous they were. People were right to be afraid. He just wished that it was easier to make others understand that not all those afflicted were like that. Maybe here, he could have that chance. Maybe. He wasn't exactly keen to taking up for the cause; he'd rather just live quietly with Sirius in this flat.
It took him a moment to lift his gaze and meet Sirius' eyes. Those damn eyes; he'd never seen in anyone else's what he'd seen in Sirius'. It'd been so long since those eyes had looked upon him with such fondness. There was no anger there, no desperation, no fear, no sadness. The last time their eyes met like that, Remus had seen how distraught, how desperate Sirius had been and he'd wanted so badly to just say to hell with everything and cling to him, tell him how much he-- Remus stopped that train of thought before it went too far into a tunnel he wouldn't be able to get out of unless he actually did see it through to the other side.
He smiled a little and nodded. "I believe you," he said, and laced the fingers of their hands.