Honestly, I think folks sometimes overcomplicate what draws people to this pairing. At its core, it's a surrealist joke taken to its most absurdly romantic conclusion. You've got Dazai, this figure of profound, self-destructive melancholy, and then... a literal landmark. The narrative tension isn't about whether they'll overcome obstacles together; it's about forcing the reader to imagine what intimacy even means in that context. Is it tragic? Is it hilarious? It's both, and that's the point. Most stories I've clicked on use it to explore Dazai's loneliness in a way that's so detached from human reality it paradoxically feels more raw—projecting his issues onto an unfeeling, eternal structure that can't leave him. The Eiffel Tower becomes a silent confessor, a monument to his own desire for something permanent he can simultaneously destroy. It's less about shipping and more about using the ship as an avant-garde character study.
The best ones lean into the inherent ridiculousness without making it pure crack. There's a melancholic beauty in a one-sided conversation with a metal giant, and the themes of distance, of being seen as a symbol versus a person, of loving something utterly incapable of loving you back... it weirdly fits his canon trajectory. I've seen surprisingly poignant metaphors woven in about construction, girders holding up weight, and decay versus preservation. It's niche, sure, but it's a fascinating sandbox for writers who want to play with form and emotion far outside typical romance templates.